


Locked Eyes

by VaxFanfiction



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Individual Sensates, Basically a big rough draft., Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Just a Blueski fic, References to Drugs, Riley is the Cutest, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Soulmates, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Will is a straight-edge.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaxFanfiction/pseuds/VaxFanfiction
Summary: The cool water sobers him, alleviates the pent up energy and leaves him with a headache and enough fatigue to match. He twists the knobs and towels off, pulls on a fresh pair of briefs and lathers his face to shave. He’s halfway through before he cuts himself. He winces and closes his eyes, leaning his head down until it stops pounding. When he looks back up in the mirror, Riley is staring back.
Relationships: Riley Blue/Will Gorski
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. Will: Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this is gonna be a full on story or just a two or three-shot, but I think I'd like to incorporate the entire cluster at some point. I just gotta start with my favorite two. Think of this as one big rough draft for the time being. :)
> 
> I miss this show.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

/ / / /

He meets her at a seedy club in downtown Chicago.

It’s a call over dispatch he can thank for it, someone deciding a man looked suspicious, dangerous, and possibly violent. A much more common occurrence than Will would care to admit he gets, but Diego and him are just a block away and as usual they check themselves as they flip the lights and fall into a silence. He’s out of the car first, pushing past the small gathering at the entrance and waiting for Diego before he flashes his badge and introduces himself to the bouncer. They move past. When he gets inside there’s an assault on all of his senses; the smell of marijuana, flashing lights, thumping bass, far too warm and humid for a cool autumn night. Diego makes a comment and it goes unheard in the room. He shares a look with his partner, who shrugs, and is promptly greeted by a waitress. Of sorts. She’s nearly naked, which tells him exactly what sort of inhibitions the club caters to. The little name tag pinned precariously on her skimpy top reads ‘Cindy.’

She looks panicked, and quickly waves them to follow. He still can’t hear anything over the music. But, something isn’t right. Diego must have picked up on it too because he places his hand on his pistol holster at the same time that Will does. It makes sense when they’re ushered towards the back room and he comes to the realization that most of the dancers are still there because they’re too high to know about any danger. There’s no waitresses walking around with drinks, and the DJ, someone named Riley Blue judging by the banner, is missing from the booth. “Did you make the call, ma’am?” He asks over the noise. Even if he’s not sure she hears, the woman turns around with a curt smile and nods. “This way,” She urges, very obvious in her attempt to keep calm. “They went to the back room.”

 _"They"_ Will mouths back at Diego. It takes them a minute to wind out of the heady floor and into the quieter back halls. Behind him, he hears his partner sigh. “Thought I’d never hear myself think again, man."

“Tell me about it, I-”

A scream, female, muffled through the doors and hidden from the rest of the world by thumping bass and rolling synths. They both burst into action. Will pops the clasp on his service weapon and draws it, flicking the safety, keeping the muzzle down, pressing his finger over the trigger guard, and pushing down the hall until he’s sure he’s at the door where another scream is cut short. He tries the handle and it’s locked of course, so he bangs on the door as hard as he can and yells, “Police!” There’s a panicked pair of male voices on the other end of the door, followed by the sounds of some crashing and movement. He knocks again before Diego moves to his side. “Get this fucking door open man!” And Will agrees. He turns to Cindy and gestures at the door handle, but she looks like a deer in the headlights. Frozen, scared. She only says "Oh my god, the Dj." Cursing his bad luck, he braces himself and shoves against the door. Once, twice, and it gives on the third time in a splintering of wood and a crash that echoes in his head. Diego is in first and when he recovers from his human battering ram impersonation, the room is clear save for one slight of a woman slouched against a couch beside a fallen table. She’s breathing hard, coughing, her mascara is running down her cheeks, but she’s alive.

Will holsters his pistol and moves to her side, crouching on one knee. “Hey, hey, are you okay?” She doesn’t lift her head but she does nod, one hand rubbing at ligature marks on her neck. To her side a little blue plastic bag sits crumpled on the ground, Will gives it one look and feels sick when the realization of what was happening dawns on him. Diego comes back through an open door to his left, huffing, puffing and scratching at an eyebrow. “They’re gone. She okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Will nods to him, then turns his attention to her again, moving his head down to try to grab a better glimpse of her. More than just a set of trembling lips and mascara stained cheeks. “Riley, is that right? You’re safe now, okay? Are you okay?”

She doesn’t reply, but she nods again and finally looks up at him through a curtain of bleached hair. He locks eyes with her and watches the leftover fear wash away. Riley is a pretty girl, he thinks, a little thin and petite but with a softness in her face. Her eyes have bags under them. Will doesn’t let himself consider anything past that, her beauty and lack of sleep is irrelevant to the report he’ll have to fill later. She glances over him in a quick flick of eyes, the tension falls out of her body at his uniform. Her arms cross as she hugs herself at the waist, new tears forming. He can see her pupils, makes note of how dilated they are, even makes note of the color. She looks vulnerable and small, to the point that he feels a slight protective, but he keeps eye contact only as long as she does. His father had taught him this part of the job, he needs to be able to be trusted by victims. _Eyes are the mirrors to the soul, son. If you can keep eye contact, you can build trust. Too much, and you'll push them away.  
_

“Good. My name is Will, I’m here to help. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He tries to come off as warm, but the thrum of the bass and the thick scents wafting through the door are giving him a very sharp headache so he's not sure how it falls out of his mouth. He can feel his edges dulling, feeling like he can’t breathe, like he's trapped. Still, he offers her a hand and leans back to give her space. He tries to project calm, tries to give the woman something to center herself on in what he is sure is a trying time. He takes a moment to examine the bruises forming on her jaw, arms, and neck. Then he smiles his kindest smile and says, “You can call me Officer Gorski, if you prefer. Would you mind if we go somewhere quieter and talk?”

Diego mutters something.

“Like... Like the police station?” She has an accent. Northern European if he were to guess, but he’s never been great with accents. Will keeps his and tries to ignore how scared she had just sounded, instead he helps her up and lets her take her hand back. “I was thinking outside... With fresh air.” It would give her time to sober up. He didn't want her to be held for using illegal substances after being nearly killed. He looks at Diego, who rolls his eyes and gives a long-suffering, dramatic sigh. “If you’ll talk to the waitress?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it Gorski. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” He pointedly ignores the snide comment that follows and turns back to the woman, “Alright, Ms…”

“Blue.” She supplies, looking everywhere but at him for a moment. They meet eyes again. “Riley Blue. Riley is fine.”

“Riley it is.” Will leads her out into the hallways and away from the scene, taking one last look around for the details. Knocked over table, crumpled bag on the floor, but no usable evidence without forensics getting involved. It was assault and attempted murder at the least, but thankfully the presence of all of her clothing meant that rape wasn’t involved. The cool air of the Chicago streets was a welcome change to the overbearing atmosphere of the club. The crowd is gone when they exit, the remainder divvied back up into a line awaiting entry. Other police cruisers have shown up, their lights mixing with the pale purple and greens from the club door.

He gestures off to the side for a place to sit, to which Riley nods and moves over to sit on a bench. Will settles down next to her and slips his notebook out of his pocket.

“Do you mind if I have a smoke?” She asks before he can open his mouth, her hand on one of her jacket pockets. He considers the harm of secondhand, weighs it against his general dislike of smoking, then decides if it gives her comfort it’s not really that bad and tells her it’s fine. It takes her a few seconds to light her cigarette, and after she exhales smoke she smiles. A slight, thin line. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He clicks his pen, returning her smile before going back to business. “I was wondering if you were going to pull out something illegal. Anyway, let’s go over the simple facts...”

She’s quite helpful, very obviously intelligent. Her story goes like this; After she spent the night DJing for the party, an old friend of hers from London had found her and believed that she’d stolen money and drugs from them. The simplicity of it fell apart when she mentioned that she’d been mixed up in drug trade, and that her ‘friend’, Nyx, believed that she’d stolen money and drugs from them. Will noted down big details; DJ as a profession, only in America for two weeks. The man’s name was Nyx. An altercation between Nyx and her now dead ex Jacks and his friend Nocker. London, a drug called DMT, that she threw away the drugs and money and left for America, and that she’s trying to be better, she _really_ is.

He lets her rant, lets her go through her emotions, and after she falls silent he chews on his lip and mulls over this information, studying Riley and that rebellious blue streak in her hair. She doesn’t look away, staring into his eyes long enough so that he averts first. Will is almost impressed that she’s so unabashed about her past, but at the same time he wonders how much of that bravery is just bravado. She doesn’t cry, and he wonders if he’s wrong and she really is just that brave.

“I thought he was dead.” She says after a stretch of silence, moving to throw away the cigarette in a nearby bin and rubbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Migraine.”

 _What a coincidence_ , he thinks. “With all of the drugs in there, I'm not surprised. Does this uh... Nyx have a last name?”

“I don’t know it. I don’t even know if that’s his real name.”

“Okay.” He notes that, nods, and closes his notebook, slipping it and the pen into his pockets and rubbing his hands together to ward off the chill. “Do you have someone you’re staying with? A friend, maybe?”

“I… no. I don’t really have any friends anymore.” She hugs herself again and he feels a pang of pity. “No, I was in a hotel. I’m flying back out to Europe tonight. I have a show in Paris in a few days.”

He nods, trying to wrap his head around traveling for work. Will chews on his lip again for a moment before letting a breath out. “Well, I have to tell you that it’s better if you do come down to the station and give a recorded statement, maybe let us put you under police protection until you’re safely out of the country. But I can’t hold you if you decide you want to leave.” She looks at him and he feels that headache twinge, but he gets a very stark reminder of why he loves being an officer of the law when he sees that her tears have stopped. Riley feels safe with him there, and he can see it. He can _feel_ it. So he continues. “I know that what happened in there was frightening, and terrible. I really wish I could say that it won’t ever happen again. I know you might feel like running, because that's what I feel like I'd do, but if you do decide to leave and hop on that plane, I- we can’t protect you if you won't let us.”

“I’ll be fine.” She replies far too quickly, before shrinking back into herself again. “I just want to move on.”

Will nods, disappointed, then purses his lips and stands. In the middle of pulling a business card out of his pocket he sees Riley’s face scrunch up and stops to watch her wipe a hand over her eyes. “Alright, you’re right.” The woman pulls her jacket tighter around herself, he gets the distinct feeling that she wants something less legal than tobacco. “I can reschedule my flight.”

He nods again and gestures towards the police cruiser. Diego comes out twenty minutes after they finish, and the pair cart the DJ to the station. Diego is chatty, as usual. Will chimes in on some jokes, laughs at others, and glances back at Riley whenever Diego tries to get her to join them in the merrymaking. “Ignore him.” Will says after a while, patting his partner’s shoulder, “He doesn’t know how to shut up sometimes.”

“Stuff it, Gorski.” Diego shrugs his hand off.

Later, near the end of his shift when his partner is out, Riley comes to sit with him at his desk and thank him again. He smiles and accepts, asks if she has their card and makes small talk. He learns a few interesting things, like when she’s flying out, that she’s been to many places he’s always wanted to, but the most interesting thing is that she’s from Iceland and misses her home country. When he asks why she doesn’t go back, the woman clams up and he backs off. When Diego comes back, Riley thanks the both of them. Diego smiles and takes the thanks like the good cop, but Will spots a bit of sorrow in her face and frowns. “Hey. Are you sure you’re alright, Riley?”

“Riley?” Diego mouths, his eyebrows raising. 

“Sometimes.” She avoids his gaze with a sad smile, then turns and leaves. Diego watches her go then spins on Will after she’s out of earshot. “Are you alright, Riley?” He parrots with a funny look on his face. Then he smiles, “Gorski gettin’ friendly with a lady, didn’t think I’d ever see it. Don’t suppose you got her number, right?”

“No. Why?”

“Wow.” Diego scoffs, “Wow. You are such a good guy, Gorski. Real top of the line.”

Will frowns while his friend waves his hands in the air like revealing a banner.

“She’s hot…” He enunciates and draws out the word, “And I think she might've been into you. Maybe she’s one of those girls with a Knight in Shining Armor fetish.” He grouses and shrugs a shoulder and plops down in his chair, “But what do I know?”

“What _do_ you know?”

“I know you’re going straight to O’hare to make sure she flies away safely when the time comes.”

“What?” Will’s turn to scoff. “Nah, that’s just weird."

He does just that anyway, days later, even with a police detail escorting her. He doesn’t expect to see Riley again outside of the dreams his subconscious forces on him.

/ / / /

It’s sometime around ten thirty at a bar with all of his fellow officers when he gets a rush of fear and chokes on air.

It’s a sharp, painful feeling around his neck, and in an instant he’s not in the warmth of a bar surrounded by his friends, his peers, and his father. He’s Riley, in a cold, abandoned house clawing at whatever’s around her neck and paralyzed with fear as Nyx looks on with a bored, distant expression. Someone grabs him and his fight instinct takes over the both of them. Someone comes up behind him to help and he strikes out with an elbow. Riley breaks the nose of the man choking with the back of her head, a satisfying crunch that loosens her noose enough to get a good breath. Will elbows a man who tries to restrain him, Riley twists out of the not-so-proverbial garrote and slams the man’s head into a wall.

Will, on the ground now, kicks a man’s leg out from under him and rolls to freedom, taking long, indulgent gasps of air. He’s Riley as they wriggles away from Nyx’s weak attempt at a grab, twists his fingers until they feel bone break and jabs Riley’s fist straight into his windpipe. He chokes, grabs his neck and goes down. His head impacts on something and Will sees blood before he comes back to himself in full. Diego is at his left, a decent distance away with one hand on his head and the other on his hip. His father is up ahead of him, a confused look on his face. Two of the officers from his precinct are on the floor with him, the third is moving to stand. Will falls back on his back and breathes until the world stops turning. He holds out a hand to stop anyone else from crowding him, clenches his eyes shut and wipes sweat off of his brow.

He hears about it for the next three hours. Spends too much time trying to explain himself and even more apologizing. He offers to pay any medical bills, but the worst injury was thankfully a busted lip and few bruised egos and reputations. His included. Diego corners him before he leaves, and his excuses himself without explaining more than ‘I couldn’t breathe, I don’t know what happened.’ He’s halfway home before he gets a call from the captain, at one in the morning no less, and resigns himself to whatever punishments he’s given. It’s desk duty for a month. A week for every man he fought, and leniency only because Will accepted going to see someone about the sudden ‘whatever the fuck that was’.

By the time he’s home, he feels hot and he feels unclean. He strips out of his jacket and shirt, turns the water on and can’t stop moving while it warms. He’s wired on adrenaline, playing the fight over and over in his head. They’re like distant memories, interconnected like cloth but he wasn’t sure how that worked at all considering the situation. He was in Chicago, and she was… somewhere else. France or somewhere in Europe. But he feels it like it was him there, the ache around his neck as real as the cut on his knuckles. When he thinks back on Riley’s fight, he can remember so vividly the details. The chill in the air, the mustiness of the room, the feeling of dust, even how scared he(she?) felt. He blinks, avoids thinking about the growing headache and strips to shower.

Will takes his time, letting the warm water wash over him. The air is unbelievably cold for how long he stays in the shower, and he’s wondering if his heater broke again. When he closes his eyes there are street lamps and fog, the sun across his face and panic in his chest. But when they’re open he’s back in his bathroom, the water going colder and colder as he stands there. The cool water sobers him, alleviates the pent up energy and leaves him with a headache and enough fatigue to match. He twists the knobs and towels off, pulls on a fresh pair of briefs and lathers his face to shave. He’s halfway through before he cuts himself. He winces and closes his eyes, leaning his head down until it stops pounding. When he looks back up in the mirror, Riley is staring back.

She looks surprised, her mouth open in a little ‘o’ and a washcloth still on the blood on her jaw. Will’s eyes flick to the marks on her neck before he feels his brow furrow and a coil of worry and _fury_ settles in his gut. It’s a violent mix that makes him want to vomit and makes him want to hit something. He stamps it down and instead basks in the wonder and confusion of seeing her again. Together, they reach a free hand out to touch the glass in front of them. They both flinch when they feel skin and warmth. Will is the first to recover, astounded. “Riley?”

For a moment, and only that, he doesn't feel alone.

“Will.” She breathes, her face changing to something like relief for only a second. He spins around as if he’ll find her standing behind him, but when he turns back she’s gone again. Swallowing back whatever emotion bubbled up, Will finishes shaving and washes his face off, cleaning off the new cut on his jaw before leaving his bathroom to collapse on his bed.

He’s going insane. He has to be.

His phone is blinking. There’s two texts there, one from the captain and another from Diego. He scrolls past the captain’s message and reads the words _‘I’m worried about you, man. Get some sleep, come over for dinner tomorrow.’_ and lets out a slow breath. He sets the phone down, shuts off his alarm, and closes his eyes.

That night he wonders if Riley’s okay and dreams of a blue streak in white hair.

/ / / /


	2. Will: Something Gained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations happen and friendships begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should reiterate that this is basically one big rough draft. I want to add the rest of the Cluster in as later stories, maybe, since the show is about all of them connecting as human beings.
> 
> Enjoy.

/ / / /

Seven weeks pass before Will sees her again. He’s convinced himself it was a temporary sort of insanity.

Diego and him are at SuperDawgs, because it’s a well established behavior that food is a necessity when D is trying to avoid feeling nervous or stressed. He always gets this way after a gunfire call, moreso when it has something to do with gangbangers. They pointedly ignore that there’s still a kid’s - Deshawn was his name - blood on Will’s vest, nor do they talk about how long they waited during the surgery or how hard Will fought to get a gang kid help. Instead he sits and thinks on the words of the woman he’d convinced, considers his place as a police officer compared to what he believes to be his duty as a human. Something about ‘Protect and Serve’ makes him believe that it should be extended to all.

“If he lives and kills someone, let’s say a cop, how you gonna feel about that?”

It’s a reality that he might have just condemned a future officer to death, but he couldn’t very well let a kid bleed out in front of him. It was a hard truth, and it cut him like a knife. He thinks about what happens to his dad. Thinks about Deshawn’s dad.

Diego spins and walks backward, shaking his head while he tells some joke, and Will isn’t listening to him very well, partially because he’s used to his best friend’s antics and jokes but also because he’s beginning to feel... strange; Like the colors are too bright, the buildings around are too tall. Trees are moving too much.. He covers it with a sip of his malt and laughs when Diego does, but doesn’t quite understand what feels strange until he’s sitting in the passenger seat of their cruiser. He sits and sets aside his malt, glances out the window and sees her. She’s surrounded by sunlight like a halo, with that same blue streak and those same hazel eyes. They’re dilated, lazy, but focus on him after a second and he’s lost among the color while things make more sense. She’s high again and he feels it, he’s living it. He frowns and Riley makes a face like disbelief, her hand coming up to brush the glass as Diego hits the gas.

Will swears he feels a pressure brush across his fingers. It’s ethereal and takes him a moment to remember to breathe.

“Hey, you alright man?” Diego breaks the reverie. Will jumps, rubs his face, his body feeling taut like piano wire. “Your head’s been in the clouds since we left the hospital. Still worrying about that kid?”

“I- Yeah.” He lies easy. By hiding it in a truth. Checks the side mirror and sees nobody behind him. “Well, no. I’ve been thinking about what the nurse asked actually."

“It’s a good question.” A nod. His partner pops a french fry in his mouth and offers them. “Probably one I should’ve asked when your stubborn ass wanted to save him. Kid’s part of the gangs, man.”

“He was just a kid, D.” Will takes a fry. “You telling me you’d just leave him there? A kid that young?”

“Yeah. I think I would.” He looks uncomfortable. Shifts in his seat. “And you know why? ‘Cause they’d do the same damn thing to us.”

They don’t talk for a while. Arguing would just waste time, and Will now has other things on his mind. He sips his malt and thinks about the implications of seeing Riley when she isn’t there. He does some mental math about the timing with the migraine the night they saved her life. He considers her use of drugs and the way things feel when he does see her. And while he’s not against being able to see an attractive stranger, there’s a chance that he belongs in a psych ward… but he somehow feels like he’s not just seeing her - she’s seeing him too. He feels less empty, it feels so right.

But that is crazy…

Right?

This would have been easier if he’d asked for a way to contact her like Diego had said. If he’d asked and she thought he was insane or creepy, he could simply cut ties entirely. So Will sips his malt and listens to the muffled bass of a nearby car. It’s familiar, just loud enough to be heard over the revving of the engine as Diego drives. It also sticks around too long, to the point that when Diego parks at the station he gets out of the vehicle and takes a look around, frowning when the music stays. “Hey, D. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Diego takes a conspiratorial look around, “Okay, You’re kinda freakin’ me out, man. Are you on something?”

“Nah, I just…” He trails for a second, then shakes his head. “Thought I heard music."

“Maybe it’s all in the your head.” He puts his hands up and shakes them, “Fourth dimension or some bullshit.” He puts his hands up, “So, do your little seance if you need, I’ll be inside working. Aight?”

“Yeah…” Will takes one more look around, before shaking his head. He thinks to the music from the club two or so months ago then follows into the station. He sits at his desk and rubs his eyes at the remainder of the sunlight, then forces himself to start on the report for his call. He writes and he thinks, consults his notes and finds himself unable to quit wondering about Riley. He’s seeing her around, but he’s sure he’s the only one. The last he ‘saw’ her before recently was with a face covered with blood in his mirror - could that be his subconscious telling him that she might be… dead?

Will closes his eyes, pressed his palms into them, and tries to wrestle his train of thought back on track.

Eventually he ends up searching obituaries and death notices for the name ‘Riley Blue’. He checks Chicago, then Paris, London, and even Berlin. More specifically he checks for strangulation, which seems to be an MO of her attacker. He nearly types her name in a general search engine, but deems that to be a little on the creepy side. Instead he indulges his curiosity about another figure of that night; Nyx. His search of every criminal database he can access brings nil with a side of zilch, and Will is in the middle of deciding if using his father’s clearance to go further is warranted in this situation before he catches himself.

“This is ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath, rubbing his eyes again. “Why are you bothering me?”

“Hey.” Diego gives him a look, then glances around, “I wouldn’t talk to yourself, man.”

“What, jealous?”

“Guys around here are already talking about you, you know. Since you been pullin’ this whole exorcist, astral projection, stare-into-space act.” Will snorts, but Diego continues. “I thought you were being weird when you saw that ghost woman in the road a while back. You know, the holy ghost in her underwear or what-the-fuck ever? Didn’t think it’d continue.”

“Guys? What guys?” Will frowns at him, pointedly ignoring the jabs. “If there’s a problem, I should know about it.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Nah, it’ll just piss you off.”

“Uh huh.” The notebook hits the desk with a bit more force than he intends. “Well, whatever, I don’t give a shit.”

“That’s part of the problem.” Diego blows air, shaking his head. “You should’ve seen the chief’s eyes on you these last few weeks.”

He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that right away.

“Well, what about you, D? You think I’m crazy?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Diego responds after a beat, with a smile, “But I like ‘em crazy. Now finish up.”

The report takes longer than it should. Far longer. The sun is down by the time they arrive at the gym. Diego chooses to whine about it long after Will apologizes. But during the sets he mulls over Nyx and Riley, tries to fill in blanks in her story of drug trade, but more importantly wonders how he got out of the country. Once the report had gone through, his name, crime - drug trade - and description would hopefully have at least been looked for. Drug trade was kind of a big deal. He thinks back to the fight again and remembers how it ended; The man had hit his head. There was blood... If he was dead, it would mean that she was safe away from him… but maybe not from any contacts or business partners he might have. How bad was it all?

“Hey, D, what do you think ever happened to that guy at the club a few months back?”

“Huh?” Diego sets the bar back on the rack and looks at him like he’s just said something absurd, “You mean the one that was getting all homicidal on that weird-accent girl you were giving the eyes?”

“Yeah.” He shoots Diego a flat look and trades the bench with him. “What was his name?”

“Something weird. Nax? Nux? Ah!” He snaps, then positions himself to spot. “Nyx. I dunno, dude probably got picked up for something. Guys like him don’t stay still for long.”

“Hm.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Will takes the bar in his hands and prepares himself for his set. He looks up at his partner and tries to wash the suspicion with a joke, “C’mon, You never get curious?”

“I do, same as you,” Diego rolls his eyes, and Will knows the words before he says them. “I’m always curious when a pretty girl is involved.”

He finishes the set before he responds, “Buzz off, Morales.”

“Fuck you, Gorski.” He responds in good humor, pushing his shoulder. The weights clink together as they’re re-racked before a water break. Diego is chatting with other officers when Will feels that familiar…fullness he’s come to associate with his visions of Riley. Like an out of body experience. He sips from his water and turns his head to look around the gym and there she is. Riley sits on one of the empty benches where he is, and in a restaurant booth where she is. There’s a pair of blue headphones mixing into her hair, a gentle thumping bass that he can all but hear. He thinks the timing is far from ideal, since he’s sweaty and hot, his face is probably still flushed and his shirt is sticking to him, but he bites back his smile and moves over anyway, sitting across from her and watching the flicker of surprise and recognition on her face.

She smiles when she sees him, a soft curve of her lips. They lock eyes and his insecurities wash away as the headphones come down. She’s focused, sober. “I was just…”

“...thinking about you.” He finishes, hiding his grin by drinking from his bottle. Her eyebrows raise and she looks around the gym, before adopting an expression between humor and bashfulness. “Really?” Her eyes flick to the surrounding equipment again, flick up and down over him. “Here? Are-” She shakes her head and furrows her brow, “This is still Chicago, right?”

“Yeah, just the gym I go to. Nothing special.” He nods, then looks around where she is. Spots the Union Jack and hears the accents, “And this is in England? London, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, that’s... That’s so cool.” He takes another look around, taking in the sights and the people. He can see other buildings through the windows, but not much else. “Man, I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Well,” She says with a smile that draws his attention, lifts her drink towards him. Her teeth are painfully white contrasted with her lipstick. “Here you are. Cheers.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I know.” She shakes the glass. Will touches his bottle to Riley’s cup, marvels at how real and physical it all is, then drinks. While he knows he’s drinking water, he still tastes the beer in her glass. It’s dark, brisque, refreshing. With more concentration, he can taste tobacco on his lips and smell it on himself even though he knows he’s never smoked a day in his life. He can even feel the weight of her hair compared to his. Excitement, wonder, and a warmth fills him, and something else unavoidable and unreadable deep underneath when their eyes meet - not all of it good. Which meant that he was experiencing her senses and feeling her emotions alongside his own, though they are fuzzy in comparison. Hesitantly, he reaches out and touches her hand. It's a confirmation of the real, he feels the warmth and softness of her skin, feels something electric. She smiles and her breath catches, a troubled look coming over her. After a moment she grabs his hand, looks down at their intermingling skin and asks; “Will, are we crazy?”

“I’ve asked myself that a lot, and…” He stops, spots her phone, then feels a lightbulb go off in his head. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and asks for hers, then puts his own number into the dial and hands it back. “There’s no way you have this number, so when you call it shouldn’t ring through, right?” She nods, then looks down at her phone. After a moment of indecision, he’s entrapped by the way her eyes sparkle as she taps the call button. There’s a second or two of silence, before he hears his ringtone. Will shows her the phone with a triumphant smile, then winks and calls out, “Diego!” followed by standing and moving over to his friend. Will presents the phone to him and waves at his ear. “Hey, man, there’s something going on with my hearing, mind picking this up for me?”

“Uh, sure.” Diego gives him a look. Still, he takes the phone, taps the button and asks, “Hello?”

“Uh, hi.” To his side, he sees Riley light up. He hears the noise of the weight room through her handset. A flash of triumph goes through him, “Is Will there?”

“Uh, yeah, one sec.” Diego hits the mute button and considers the phone for a second. Recognition washes over his face and he shoots Will a very flat look. “It’s weird accent chick.”

“Weird accent?” Riley repeats, unhappy. Will parrots the same question reflexively, “Weird accent?”

“Yeah, the hot one from that club, remember?” Diego shakes his head and hands him the phone, steps closer. He lowers his voice with a grin. “Thought you didn’t have her number, playa’.”

“I like him.” His visitor gives Diego the once over and shrugs her shoulder.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Will takes the phone and unmutes it as he leaves. He sets the handpiece up to his ear and hears himself say twice, “Safe to say we’re not crazy.”

“Oh my god.” She smiles, this time wide and bright. “This is so cool.”

“Wow.” He can’t stop the smile, even as they hang up and return to where they were both sitting before. Or, at least, he returns to where he was sitting in his space. To her neither of them had moved. It takes him a second to adjust to being in two places at once, but once he does he looks at Riley and feels the both of them begin to have questions. How did this visiting thing work, they don’t know. Why them, they don’t know. And... Her smile disappears when he hits the third. His good mood sobers. “I was worried about you, after the whole thing with Nyx.”

“Oh. I’m fine.” She blinks, takes a drink, and seems to deflate. “It... turned out okay.”

“But the fight-”

“You?” A revelation seems to come to her. Riley rubs her neck, where wire marks had once pocked her skin. “That was you.”

“I- yeah. Are you okay?” There’s a pregnant pause, “I’m sorry, if it’s none of my business-”

“I’m fine. Just… it’s complicated.” He can feel her lying, intuitively and in a way that he wasn’t prepared to face. Riley takes a look around both physical spaces and frowns. Will can’t help himself from pressing further, he asks if Nyx has bothered her any more and she draws in on herself. He can feel her fear and anxiety like a coil in his gut. He feels it like it’s his own. She furrows her brow and looks at him. It becomes apparent that she’s coming to the same conclusion. “I-I should get to sleep.”

“Oh, okay.” He nods, glancing at the time. “Right, it must be pretty late over there.”

“Dj hours.” She offers as a way of explanation, placing a hand on his forearm. “Good night, Will.” Will watches her stand, walk and when he blinks next she and London are gone. The space in his chest appears again. He stares at his phone for a long time, wondering if he shouldn’t have asked anything at all.

/ / / /

Diego thinks he’s insane when he mentions going to see the gang kid.

Well, not in so little words, and not just Diego is saying them. But Will takes his time to go anyway, if only to distract himself from what he knows waits for him at the bar tonight. He wants to distract himself from everything for a while, get some time that doesn’t let him sit and think alone. The nurse at the desk, the same lady who’d accepted the kid, greets him cordially and leads him to Deshawn’s room. The kid is asleep, but his condition is stable, his breathing is even, and there’s no sign of pain on his face. Will thanks the nurse and drapes his vest over the chair, sitting with his elbows planted on his knees. It’s almost disappointing when his mind wanders, lulled by the steady sounds of medical machinery nearby.

Mostly, Will just thinks about his dad. He knows that he’s gonna catch flak later for everything he does now. I’m already unpopular, he figures, so what can make it worse? But he does know that the moment he talks to his dad about this, there’s going to be another problem, one with a name and one that hasn’t ever been found. Sara Patrell. He remembers why everything with Riley feels so familiar - it’s because he’s felt it before. Not the same physicality or warmth, but that same sensation of someone being there. A missing girl, something he obsessed over during the first few months as a cop, something his father had adamantly tried to remove from him in every way possible, from therapy to punishment. Nothing worked bu t time. It’s confusing to him how he hadn’t made that connection before, but now that it’s on his mind it makes more and more sense with each passing moment. He rolls the idea around in his head, plays with it and decides that it’s something he can tackle at a later date, when he’s back at the office and can go through his files on her.

He steeples his hands, rests his mouth on them and watches Deshawn for a moment. It strikes him how young the boy is. There are no worry lines or wrinkles, no cracked skin or even any acne. Will closes his eyes and exhales, lets the weight of his decision fall away. He did the right thing. He did the right thing.

“Got a funny look in your eye, Will. You hot for me or somethin’?” Deshawn asks, twitching his eyebrows. “I know I’m prime cut beef, but you should know I don’ swing that way.”

Will nods, feeling his lips curl up in a half smile. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Thought you should know.” The kid pushes himself up to sit, nodding towards him. “Havin’ a 5-0 sittin at my bedside ain’t doing much for my rep, you know?”

“Yeah, well it’s not doing too great for mine either.” Will leans back, feeling the edges of his vest bite into his back. “But here I am.”

“You think you own me now or somethin?” Deshawn lays back down, and Will is reminded that this kid is part of a gang, no matter how young he looks. So he sighs and folds his hands in his lap. “No. What I did for you is what I’d have done for anyone.”

“One good act ain’t gonna clear bad blood.”

“Probably not.” Will doesn’t hold out hope that it will even make a dent. “But it was the right thing to do.”

“I won’t forget it.” Deshawn looks away, as if what he says is embarrassing. Will hides a smile, letting the kid have his privacy. After a long stretch of silence, though, Deshawn itches at where the IV is set and locks eyes with him. Brave kid, he thinks. Maybe. “So… what then?”

“Thinking about our conversation in the car. About your dad being shot.” Will frowns, then chews on the inside of his cheek. “My dad was shot, too.”

“Dead?”

“Finished his career, so… parts.” Exhaling, he scratched his jaw. “Well, whatever parts were left after my Mom died.”

“My dad died. Long time ago. Things ain’t different now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, cop gets shot, it’s on the news. Name up like they a hero or somethin’. It’ll be on all day.” Deshawn fiddles with his fingers, scratches his head and does everything he can to not be sitting still. Looks uncomfortable. Will relates to that restlessness. “One of us, though? Nothin’. We don’t mean nothin’ to nobody.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Will…” There’s a stretch of silence before Deshawn talks again. “Tell me about your gangsta’ days.”

“Not much to tell.” Will half smiles as he’s looking in the past. “Tried some soft stuff as a teen, you know. Marijuana. But dad stamped that out pretty quick and I didn’t really take. I got this one memory you might like, though. I was young, maybe about your age. I stole a couple things from a convenience store, tried to hide it under my jacket. Mostly it was candy, I got a real sweet tooth. But it didn’t go so well.”

“One of those little seven-elevens?” A scoff, “Of course not, there ain’t enough people to hide in.”

“Yeah, well. He caught me, got ahold of me before I could get out. Dad answered the call of course, handcuffed me to the back seat.” He jingles the cuffs on his belt, as if to emphasize. “So I grabbed a paperclip from his files, picked the lock, and took off running.”

“You picked the handcuffs?” Deshawn chuckles, his eyebrows lifting, “Alright, you gotta teach me that.”

“Yeah. Dad was always working and I was always waiting. Had to do something to pass the time.” Will glances at the time and sighs. He lifts his vest off the chair as he stands. “Look, I gotta head out. You call if you need something, yeah?”

“Uh huh.” Deshawn nods, and Will is almost out of the door when his name is called. He looks back to see the kid sitting again, fiddling with his IV line. “You know I don’t owe you nothin’, but I did tell you that I won’t forget it.”

“Yeah. Take care.” He nods and leaves, ignoring the confused looks from nearby nurses. Maybe he could help this kid out at some point, try to help him find his way to a better life. Or maybe that’s just his idealism talking. Diego meets him outside, leaning on the cruiser and holding one eyebrow up. He expected a snarky comment, but it doesn’t come until the car is moving. “You enjoy your date?”

“There it is.” Will sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not in the mood, Diego.”

“I’m just saying, if I were you I’d be going after weird-accent-hottie and not some ghetto kid who held a gun to you.” D shrugs, and Riley pops into Will’s head for a moment. “But hey, that’s just me.”

“Icelandic.”

“What?”

“She’s Icelandic. Haven’t heard from her since yesterday. Conversation didn’t end great.”

“Ah.” That sobers his partner. “Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to help you?” An elbow jabs into his arm, “With your dad, you know?”

“Nah, thanks.” Will sighs and tries not to think about what he’s going to find this time. “I can get it.”

“Alright.”

Truth is, he doesn’t want Diego to see his dad how he knows he’s going to find him. Even if everybody knows, although nobody will ever talk about it with him around. At least, they used to not. It’s a hard thing realizing that the amount of worth respect has, especially in comparison to how easy it is to lose and how hard it is to gain. His dad still had clout, whereas he... When they pull up to the bar, the sun is hidden behind the buildings, leaving the streets dark and like something out of D's favorite movies. He looks to the neon and the filth, works his jaw and only stops his exit when Diego’s hand slaps down on his forearm. “Hey, man.” He says, “Really. If you need help...”

“No, it’s okay. I've got this.” Will instead grips his hand and slips out of the cruiser. “Just… pick me up as usual. See you in a few.”

His dad is just one of the many ways he expects; Asleep, drunk, unabashed and as broken as always. He sees his father’s pants on the floor, legs laid bare to the cool air. He smells the liquor coming off of him, harsh and acute, and hears the low snoring. Will sees, most of all, the way his father huddles in on himself like a child. The lion of a man he grew up admiring, who became a hero to his fellow officers, brought down to nothing but a drunken mess. Mechanically, he unholsters the snub-nosed 357 his father carries on his ankle. Will runs his fingers over the scratches on the handle, unloads the shells, then pockets it. Out of sight, out of mind. As he’s situating his father, he’s listening to the song playing over the jukebox and resigns himself to hear the chorus a thousand times as it sticks in his ear like a worm.

“Come on, Dad." He pats the older man's leg, which does nothing to rouse him. "Time to go.”

He’s singing along by the time he’s deposited his father in the back seat of his own car, snatching the keys from his pockets and cranking the beat up old sedan to life. It’s still strange to him, how much he’s grown used to picking his father up every few nights. Will sets his forehead on the steering wheel and closes his burning eyes. He stays like that for a minute or two, maybe more, before he lifts himself back up and wipes the tears away. With the whole in his chest threatening to tear him apart, he finds himself on a plane, the gentle roar of the engine a lull on the passengers nearby.

“Are you okay?” Riley asks from his right, as if he hadn’t just appeared to her from air. She looks around the car and he sees her eyes focus on his father, snoring away with his arm as a pillow. The headphones come down and the song in his head disappears. She looks at Will again. “Will?”

“Sometimes.” He parrots her words and clears the emotion out of his throat after a beat, sniffing and wiping away his tears. He visits her area instead, escaping the confines of a car and leaning back into the aircraft chair to stare at the back of the seat. “It’s my dad. He’s… not doing well.”

“Oh.” She whispers, “I see.”

“He wasn’t ever the same after Mom died.” Will finds himself explaining. He sees her entire face contort in what he would consider pity if he couldn’t feel her empathy. Warm like sunlight. “Then he lost his job… got shot and uh...”

“Started drinking.”

“Drank more.” He corrected, keeping his voice soft. Though he was certain that Riley wouldn’t be able to hear him over the snoring or the airplane, she nodded and closed her eyes. “And… and I don’t know how long he can keep this up.”

“You are scared.” She says, her words carrying the weight of finality. Her hair bobs as she nods, a quick, rabbity motion. And she understands, he knows she does. He can feel it in his bones, the way her gut twists and how she feels like running to the bathroom to be sick. Will frowns, but Riley knocks him off-kilter with a sad smile. “I am going to Iceland. My father has been asked back to the symphony. I want to be there. I have no friends anywhere else.”

He thinks otherwise. Says nothing on his mind but feels her heart clench when he thinks it.

“Iceland?” Will asks instead. He wipes at his eye, searching his memory. “But that’s where you’re from…”

“Yes. I would rather not talk about it right now.” Riley cuts in before he can finish his question. Instead of pushing his luck and having things end like they did yesterday, he apologizes silently and keeps his jaw shut.Riley takes his hand, cradles it between the two of hers and sets it on her lap. He knows it’s not physically possible, as he is not there and she is not with him, yet when she rests her head on his shoulder he can feel her weight. He can feel the comfort of the gesture, how soft and warm she is. How small she is compared to him. Just as well, he can feel her anxiety dissolving. Behind everything, he can see glimpses of what she’s hiding and what she’s afraid of. Cold. Biting, unearthly cold that sucks away heat like a sponge in water. Dark red blood, vertigo, and such deep sorrow that he’s afraid that it could suck him in like a black hole and stick in his bones. Will feels her settle into her position on his arm, and hears her ask very quietly. “Can... Will you try to stay with me? I don’t have anyone else.”

She sounds so small that he can’t help himself.

“I will. ” The car kicks into drive at his beckon, his arm still firmly held in Riley’s grasp. He checks the back seat, hears the snores coming from his father, and sighs as he turns out of the parking lot and into the Chicago streets. Neither he nor Riley speak during the drive, but he can feel her smiling as he traverses the sprawling roads of his home town. She’s in awe, she’s in love with the lights and the people out so late, her eyes linger on clubs and restaurants they pass, then onto extravagant houses as they enter the suburbs his father lives in. His cheeks are hurting with hers by the time her emotions and thoughts go fuzzy. She’s tired, fighting the inevitable sleep that’s threatening her consciousness - and by proxy their connection. There’s an inexplicable warmth blossoming when he feels how much she wants to stay, so when he parks his father’s car in the driveway he reaches his free hand over to brush a lock of Riley’s hair out of her face. Her thanks flows into him. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

And she does. He misses her presence within moments, but he can feel her now in the back of his consciousness; alive and in the world. It’s reassuring to him. His father groans in the back seat, sitting up on one elbow. “Who’re you talking to?”  
“You, Dad.” Will twists around to look at him. He hopes that he doesn’t look as badly as he feels, not like his father is in any condition to notice. “You okay?”

“The fuck’re we doin’ here?” There’s a bleary look to him. His father rubs at his eyes and squints, before opening the car door and moving to leave. Will is quicker, coming around to help his father out before he can fall and hurt himself. With distant eyes, Michael Gorski takes a good, long look at Will. “You’re a good boy, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Will throws his arm around his shoulders and lifts, ignoring the way his eyes burn. “Careful now, Dad.”

“Royal pain in my ass as a kid but…” He prods a hard finger into Will’s chest, “You turned out good.”

“Thanks.”

“Even if you saw ghosts and saved that gang kid.”

“I did.” Will nixes the idea of talking about Sara. “I-”

“I know you’ere doin’ the right thing’n all. God knows I tried to teach you right from wrong.” Will winces at the slurred speech. “But you know that if he kills someone, you gotta live with’at.”

“I know, Dad.” Will unlocks the door and helps his father into the house, traversing across the rooms by memory alone in the dark light. He’s grateful for the lack of light - it hides the tears he can feel sliding down his cheeks. He clears his throat before he talks again, depositing his father on his bed. “Let me get you some water before you go to sleep, okay?”

“Alright.”

By the time he gets back, his father is snoring again. Will sets the glass of water on his nightstand and pulls his blanket over the old man, before patting his chest, telling him he loves him, and wishing him good night. Before he goes he changes the catheter bag, then after setting the revolver and the keys on the mantle in the den, he locks the house on the way out and calls Diego for a ride. The cold air bites at his skin, curling under his clothes and caressing him. Will leans against a brick half-wall and crosses his arms, thinking about the cold that he glimpsed in Riley’s... memories? Or thoughts? Compared to that, this was nothing more than the shock of cool pool water on a summer day. He connects the memory to Iceland and her fear of the place, but lets the train of thought go no further. That is her story to tell.

Diego pulls up fifteen minutes after the call, slides out of the cruiser and stops Will before he can move past. “Hey, man. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” He lies, nodding, “It wasn’t that bad this time.”

“You’re kind of a shit liar, Gorski.” D nods, rubs at his face and looks him straight in the eye. “Be straight with me man.”

“It was pretty bad.” Will relents, if only because Diego is rarely this serious. “He can’t keep up like that.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” His partner rubs his eyes, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you want me to see if I can get him some help. Nothing big just… I can help him out sometimes instead?”

“D, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“The fuck you can’t.” Diego scoffs, “The amount of shit you do for my kids, what your old man has done for me... Get in the car, Gorski.”

“I-”

“-am freezing my ass off out here, I bet.”

“Diego.” Will sighs, feels himself smile and chuckle. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I know. And I was serious.” Diego pulls himself up and shuts the door. The window rolls down and his head jerks towards the passenger side. “Get in the damn car, we’ll talk about it on the way.”

Will gets in the car.

/ / / /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time.
> 
> \- Vax


	3. Riley: Detoxification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we take a look in Riley's head, spend some time with Gunnar and Will, and start digging into her problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is basically one big rough draft, and I hope it reads well enough despite that(do let me know if it doesn't), but I really am enjoying the story I have put together for the future. It's shaping up to be a little bit longer than I thought it would be. And it's coming out pretty quick.
> 
> Being in quarantine due to COVID-19 really helps though.

/ / / /

Riley has one word to describe Will Gorski.

_Presence._

Other words applied, things like safe, kind, considerate, when talking about personality, or handsome, boyish, and at times intense when considering his looks. But above all, to her, his presence was the most apt trait. Maybe it was a side effect of whatever connected them, or maybe it was just what her life was meant to be all along, but Riley learned to draw comfort from the warm buzz in her chest she associated with him. It’s a strange thing for her, to want to talk and learn more about a man again. To feel so viscerally connected to another human being, to the point that she’s certain that they share thoughts as well as emotions. The previous morning on her flight in, she let herself open up a bit - to test the waters. Being sober and unable to dose herself might have had something to do with it.

Today, as she sits in a home she never thought she’d return to, Riley thinks it wasn’t bad at all.

Her papa sits across from her, with his wide smile and his keen, kind eyes. She can’t help but smile back, resting her chin on her palm. It doesn’t strike her how much she missed this man until now, when they’re just sitting in the same room and enjoying each other's company. Riley thinks she might cry, more so when she’s reminded of how emotionally solid he was for her. Gunnar leans forward over their plates, and he speaks like he can see truth. “It is good to see you looking happy again, and to have you here.”

 _You should not have come back._ An old crone of a voice echoes in her head, insistent and clipped. _Stupid girl._

“I’m happy to be back.” She replies, trying to cover that anxiety. “I missed you dearly, papa.”

“So I hear.” His eyes twinkle, “Just as I hear you are quite popular. I’ve been watching you on the internet, you know. Doing well?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Mixing popular songs for drunk and high people looking to get laid.”

“Beethoven’s much the same.” He smiles and she can’t help but narrow her eyes at that assertion, so he clarifies. “Just, people are too old and tired to worry about the getting laid part.” Riley makes a ‘hm.’ noise, even as her father continues. “You make music, Riles. And people forget their worries for a while. It is no small thing, I am very proud.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She’s floored, actually, feeling her neck flush between the pride and even a bit of embarrassment. For a moment, she’s sure she might cry again. The buzzing in her chest alters; Will’s curiosity about the surge of emotion filters through her body. It’s early in Chicago, she can feel the grogginess in him, taste the coffee he’s drinking as if it’s passing through her own lips. Gunnar looks down at his watch and sighs. “I have to get to rehearsal.”

“Okay.”

 _Leave._ The voice in her head chides. The mountain chill seeps into her head. _You are hexed._

Will, or at least his emotions, grow in her as she feels her anxiety spike. Her father explains that Sven is available if she needs anything, kisses her hair, and leaves her to her own devices. When he’s gone she wipes at her eyes and does the only thing she can think to quiet the little demon and the memories in her head. She needs noise, she needs distraction.

So, Riley visits Will.

He’s in the middle of drinking his coffee in greedy gulps, a bundle of red folders in his left hand. His uniform is still unbuttoned, untucked and hanging loose on his torso. The cup of coffee comes down onto the table. She licks her lips and draws comfort from the mixture of tastes - bitter and sweet, knows somehow that he takes his black with one sugar. Just like her. Then, Will clears his throat and sets the folders down as well. It seems like he hasn’t noticed her yet, at least until he turns to her and smiles. “Hello, woman in my head.”

“Hi.” She smiles back, feeling warm and whole. It’s like a reflex, she can’t help it. “Man in my head.”

“Your flight went okay?”

She nods, then backs away. “I’m home.”

And then he’s visiting her, sitting together on the same beat up couch she used to jump on as a kid. She sees herself through his eyes, which is a strange enough thing, but she can see too where his eyes linger; on hers, on the streak in her hair and her nose. Then, she can feel Will resisting the urge to spin around, tamping it down to taking slow looks in each direction. Riley doesn’t quite giggle, but she does smile at how he perceives his new surroundings. Like a cop, he takes in important details; exits and entrances, hiding spots and possible weapons. She listens to him categorize everything in his head. Quite literally reading his mind. Then he catches himself and looks at things more clearly; Pictures and vases, to books and light fixtures. Then he smiles and looks at her again. His guess is impeccable. “This is where you grew up?”

“This is where I grew up.” Riley confirms, standing. “I want to share something.”

He watches her as she moves, then follows her. She plants herself in the stool in front of her father’s piano and runs her hands over the keys. “My father practices here every morning.”

“He’s kind of a big deal, huh?” Will’s eyes dart to the side, where she knows a picture of her papa at a show sits. She nods and affirms, explaining an aspect of his fame while watching him take in his surroundings for a second time. “Wow.” He finally says, looking at her again. “Wow, I love it. It’s so... comfortable.”

“Mm-hm.” She smiles, nodding towards the ground. “I used to listen to papa practice every morning. I would lay on that rug with my coloring book listening to him, when I was little.” Riley smiles down at the memory, looking at the crayon stains on the cloth. “It’s the first thing I think of when I think of the word ‘happy’.”

They share a smile. She knows he can feel the nostalgia in her, so she lets the emotion well up and spill over through their connection. Will’s smile grows to include his teeth, his hand coming up to rub at his chest. He mouths a little _‘wow’_ as he looks at her, blinking away unshed tears. Through him she can feel tentativeness, but he lacks the tepidity of someone truly afraid. He checks his watch and buttons up his shirt, glancing over pictures again and locking on one of her and her mother. “Oh, wow.” He breathes, and even though she knows he can feel the lance of pain in her, he still asks. “Is this your mother?” which is followed closely by a glance and a “She’s beautiful.”

“She was.”

“Oh. She passed away. I’m sorry.” He empathizes, and the emotion he shares is like a warm blanket. It reminds her that Will has lost his mother as well. She centers herself on that shared feeling and rides it to the beautiful balance of sorrow and serenity. He doesn’t speak while she doesn’t, focusing on buttoning his shirt and tucking it below his waistband. After a pregnant pause, Riley looks up at him. “It’s okay, it was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Mine too. I’m still sorry.” Will looks down, nods. Riley stands and moves to look at the picture with him, brushing her shoulder on his. She lets out a slow breath, “I missed my papa though.”

“He seems like a nice man.” Though he’s never heard him speak. He’s going by her emotions here, she realizes, or maybe even her memories. Riley grins. “He is.”

“Why’d you stay away so long, anyway?” He asks, and she must have panicked because his backtrack is just as quick. His hand comes up, placating. “Oh, you don’t have to answer that. Bad cop habit. Ask way too many questions.”

“It’s okay.” She bites her lip, chews on the inside of her cheek and decides the best way to put it. “A lot of things happened here that are hard to talk about.”

“Okay. I won’t push.”

There’s that consideration and kindness again. She turns to him, changes the subject. Riley visits his space again, doesn’t limit herself to a slow look around. She spins and smiles, “So. This is where you live?”

“Yeah. It’s uh… it’s a little small.” Will snatches at empty bottles to trash them. She feels insecurity coming from him like gooseflesh up her neck. He flushes a pretty shade of red. “Cops aren’t exactly paid a lot.”

“That's okay." She thinks of the tiny flat she had in London. "I like it.”

“Yeah?” The relief is palpable.

“This is so cool.” Riley goes straight for his records, of course. She’s three in before she realizes that she knows what the next one is before she even flips it. Still, his collection is surprisingly diverse, with normal stuff she associates with American men like rock, metal, SRV, and Hendrix. There’s some house and dance, even a German trance record, but she’s also surprised to see some fringe blues acts she’s never even heard of like Luce Dufault and Beth Hart. Riley feels him immediately when he steps to her side, knows that he’s smiling and when she glances over - they’re the only things in the room. It might help that she can see and feel what he feels, but she doesn’t think her hyper-awareness of his every move is part of it. Oh, how his eyes lock her attention. “You’re well rounded.” She admires that, forcing her eyes away from his and flipping through another set of records. “More than I am actually.”

“I like music. Hey, you should come back to America sometime. I’d love to hear what you can do.” He says, and she doesn’t think it’s that bad of an idea. “There’s a great music scene around Chicago. House, jazz, blues... I don’t know how much you saw while you were here.”

“Not much.” She admits, turning to him. She pointedly ignores how close they are and bites her lip while she smiles and reminds him, “You can show me around before I’m even there.”

“Yeah. Might get looks talking to myself, though.” He then looks out a window onto the fields of Iceland. “And you can show me around… uh… Reykjavík?”

“Mhmm.” She smiles at the way his brow furrows, pleased by his pronunciation. Gets the impression that he doesn’t know how he knows where she is, or even how to say it, but Riley thinks it’s due to their connection that he does. She makes a mental note about that. “Not really much to see here.”

“So cool.” He says, as if she hadn’t spoken. He looks out of the window, over the bright green grass. “How about that volcano that nobody can pronounce the name of? I wanna see that.”

“ _Eyjafjallojokull_?”

“Uh…” Will’s eyebrows go up. He tries it himself a few times, of which one was close. She smiles so hard her cheeks are hurting when he opens his mouth to say something witty and a loud screech interrupts the both of them. “Oh my God.” Riley spins, back in his house again. She steps forward through a doorway, past his bed and to the window. “What is that?”

The train outside rumbles and screeches.

“You sleep here?”

“You get used to it.” He stops beside her at the window, staring out into the mess of buildings outside of his apartment. Riley feels him at her side, all warmth and kindness, all steady determination and open emotion. He radiates that strength like sunlight.

She tries to fight it - if only a little and if only because she’s still not sure about any of this - but the moment their hands touch she’s fully aware of what’s inevitable. Their kiss is a simple thing, and it goes like this; It’s lingering touches up each other’s arms, each sparking lightning along their nerves shared between them. She traces her hands up his chest, he rubs circles on her shoulders. Riley thinks she may melt. They both hesitate as they share breath, but when he sets his hand on her hip and she coaxes his jaw with her fingers, basks in the radiance of him and thinks ‘ _presence’_ before she presses her lips to his. They are together, they are whole. He touches and holds her like she’ll come apart at the seams and she does melt.

He’s gentle, _so_ gentle.

She’s read about the magical feeling some fictional characters get from a kiss, with lightning and sunshine and the whole world opening up… this was the closest she was sure anyone was going to get. Their hearts were beating an allegro rhythm, his skin warm and supple under her fingers. The break away for air was momentary before they fit together again, like two pieces of a puzzle. The sensation mixes. He’s firm and strong, contrasted with her softness. He kisses her like her mouth has the answers to the universe - She kisses him like he’s going to disappear. _He’s a drug_. She decides, laughing into his mouth. _He’s not even physically here._

She considers the bed, wonders what it’s all like in this strange mindscape. She wonders what everything would be like in person. Wonders about his touch. She craves that knowledge so much that it scares her.

It’s sweet, all too sweet, and over far too soon.

She hears a voice to Will’s left. Diego. “The fuck you doi-”

Then she’s alone in Reykjavik, standing in front of a window with the taste of his lips lingering on hers and the warmth of his hands on her hip and neck. It’s an impossible thing, for something like that to feel so real, but she can’t deny the way her lips tingle when she drags a finger over them. Riley can feel Will’s annoyance, his impatience, and his apologies through the bond between them. It’s stronger now, a prevalent part of her.

It feels like she’s been missing a limb her whole life.

She sighs her happiness and smiles, tries to send him some sort of affection and apology of her own, planning to ride the high of that kiss for as long as she can. Soon, however, she knows she’ll be left with her thoughts and no drugs or people to silence them. He's not gone for two minutes before she wants to see him again.

So she sits on the rug under the piano, closes her eyes, and thinks of Will’s little apartment. She hadn’t felt this way about someone since… since...

Riley thinks on how connected she feels to him.

It's wonderful.

It's _terrifying_.

/ / / /

Everything for her is fine until she remembers that she has nothing left to take. As it turns out, going through detox is as uncomfortable and painful as the movies and TV shows say. She’d seen Jacks and Shugs both go through it, but Riley hadn’t considered it to be a possibility for her whenever she had gotten on the plane to leave London, but now as she leans against the wall across from the toilet she is sure that she’ll never forget again. She wipes away the sick with a tissue, then wipes at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand and breathes. She aches for something to take it away, craves another line or another pill. It’s certain that she’d have ran up to her bags and taken anything at this point, if she had anything to take. Airport customs is cursed once, then twice. The thought of a cigarette crosses her mind, but it makes her stomach roll so violently she dry heaves.

So she sits and suffers. Her demons taunt her in that old crone's cackle. _Punishment! Never should have returned._

She hopes Will doesn’t visit, doesn’t see her like this. She’s not sure how to hide any of this from him, if it’s even possible. Every time she feels him become curious or worried she just thinks ' _everything is okay, I’m okay please don’t-'_ and presses reassurance at him until he lets his curiosity fall away. It’s strange that he trusts her to believe that, since she knows he must be in pain too. Just knowing he’s alive and aware of her is like cool water on her hot skin. She’ll need to thank him later for something as absurd as existing.

Her father finds her some time later, hours maybe - she can’t tell. He drops everything.

Gunnar whispers things to her in their mother tongue, soothing and low. He wipes the hair out of her eyes and retrieves her warm and cool towels - whichever she asks for. Riley considers herself blessed when she sees no judgement or disapproval in his eyes. She leans on his shoulder and tries to quell the shaking of her arms, tries to lose herself in the gentle strumming of her papa’s ukulele and the mellow tones of his voice as he sings all sorts of songs to her. But she’s overheating in the small bathroom, even with her arms and legs bare, it’s just too much.

So her father rubs her back and ties as much of her hair into a ponytail as the short bob will allow, binding the rest back with hair clips.

“You look absurd, Riles.” He says with that big smile of his, eyes on her hair. “It’s wonderful.”

“Thanks, papa.” She doesn’t bother to keep the irony out of her tone, shooting him a rueful glare. His smile stays, so she can’t even pretend to be upset. “Have you ever…?”

“Detoxed? No.” He shrugs a shoulder, “But Johann has.”

“ _Johann_!?” If she didn’t hurt so much, she’d physically recoil. Instead she blinks at him a few times and pictures the old man. It didn't match, she couldn’t see him as someone who needed drugs, he was such a sweetheart. “Really?”

“Really.” Gunnar nods and plucks a beautiful little melody on his instrument. He stares off into space, reliving a memory. “He was a wild man back in the day, and had a hard time when we were in our thirties. It’s not the drugs that make an addict.”

“It’s the need to escape reality.” She finishes, a spike of guilt etching into her. Her father turns his head to look at her, his eyebrows coming together. Riley knows what he’s thinking, and she knows because she’s thinking it as well. They don’t talk for a bit, but Riley crawls over to be sick in the toilet again before her papa cleans off her face and starts to sing again. She leans on him and drifts at the edge of consciousness, waking up to wipe sweat and tears out of her face, to drink water, or to shift so she’s sitting more comfortably. Dreams of trains screeching her head last until she wakes up some time later. Her father is still there, no longer playing his instrument but twisting a damp cloth in his hands. “Papa,” She says, stretching at a pinch in her neck. “You don’t have to sit here with me. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s okay.” It isn’t, he looks haggard and tired. The light of day is fading in the rest of the house. She glowers at him and pushes at his shoulder, “Go get some sleep.” Is her instruction, “I can wake you if I need you.”

“...I was thinking about your mother. And about Magnus and Luna.” He says after a moment, locking ice in her veins. She feels the nausea peak as images flash behind her eyes. Her father gives her a look that is so soft and caring that she can’t even fight the tears that slide down her cheeks. Gunnar’s voice is quiet, his hand placed over his heart. “I think about how heartbroken they must be, looking down on you now. As I am.”

“Papa…”

“I know it is painful for you to hear.” He continues, his face pinching. “But it breaks me to see you like this _krútt_. And it would break them too.” The term of endearment is nearly enough to quicken her tears. It’s like she’s a kid again after mama died - She throws her arms around him and buries her head in the crook of his neck. If he cares how sweaty and hot she is, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he embraces her and lets her cry. She cries over everything and anything in her head, from the ice cold images of her lost family on the mountain, to the hot fear of Nyx’s separate attacks, the lingering image of Will’s father drunk and unconscious in the back seat of a rickety old vehicle. Mostly she cries for herself, the hell she’s put her body through and the things that she’s let happen to her over the past years. When her tears run out, she shudders against her father and feels Will’s supportive warmth crest the wave of her grief. She knows he can’t have an idea of why she feels this way, but she knows that he can feel her apprehension and stays away. It’s so kind that her heart shatters like porcelain.

It’s not enough, and it will never be enough. There are never going to be enough tears for Magnus and for Luna. She realizes this as she pulls back and falls against the wall again, her father wiping at her eyes. _It will have to be a start._ She thinks as her father says something about cancelling rehearsal tomorrow and stops her argument before it even comes. “My daughter is more important than my work.” Gunnar says as if it’s the only thing that makes sense. “They will understand.”

And then she’s crying again. This time it only lasts for a minute, with his soft words and firm thumb stealing the tears off of her cheeks as they roll down. “Oh, papa.” She rubs at her arms, swallowing her grief. “It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

“I know, love.” He smiles again, “The world is a lot. It can be too big sometimes.”

“I don’t know how to deal with it.” She says after a beat, sniffing. “I just don’t know.”

Her father is quiet for a long, long time. Riley hangs on the silence, ready for hopefully some life changing, mind altering, world shattering advice. Her chest clenches. Instead, he purses his lips and just smiles. “I guess you just gotta make the world smaller. Try to be a good person, surround yourself with good people. Maybe inspire some others to do the same.”

It seems so simple when he says it like that. The wire around her heart loosens. She feels small.

“You think that will help?”

“Well, it can’t hurt to try, can it? And if not you can always get stoned.” He shrugs, “No harm in pot.”

“I guess.” She thinks of Will. Aches to talk to him. Fears to think that he could be judgmental of her state - he is a cop after all. Gunnar leans his head down and smiles, “Oh, I see you have someone on your mind.” And before she can hide it, he’s got his ukulele up and is strumming along to some upbeat tune. She scrunches her nose at him(though she’d never interrupt) and waits for him to get to the last chord before he leans in like they’re sharing a secret. “So tell me about them.”

“Well...” Riley nods her head back and forth, trying to figure out what to say. Her stomach doesn't like that movement. It becomes apparent that she doesn’t know a lot about Will when it comes to detail, outside of the little they’ve shared. And she finds that it’s okay that way - details come with time together, and they haven’t gotten a lot of that yet. Everything between them - whatever they have and will have - is still new. _Yet_. She thinks, hiding her smile away behind pursed lips. _Listen to me_. “You remember the thing with Nyx I told you about? He’s the one who saved me from dying, twice.”

“I like him already.” Gunnar grins, then reverses that expression. “Wait, in both Chicago and London?”

“It’s… complicated?” She tries, and watches as her father allows himself to be convinced. He waves at her to continue and it takes her a moment to. It’s not that she can’t think of anything to say, it’s that she’s actually embarrassed to talk about it. But the more she thinks back on looking around Will’s apartment, the more she realizes something quite sobering. “I think he’s lonely.” She says after a long time, thinking about the lack of pictures on the walls and the spartan way his home was set up. It makes more sense than she wants it to. The way he lights up when she appears, the lack of any friends besides Diego, no pictures on the walls that include anyone but his Dad. Not even his mother. Isolated and maybe even shunned by his peers. She feels herself frown, searching for the warmth of him in their bond and drinking in the buzz of his consciousness. On a whim, she lets her budding affection for him slide across and is met with an interesting mix of emotion in response. “His mother passed, his father copes with drink… But he’s kind, considerate. He’s a really good cop.” She thinks about his boyish charm and the steadiness of him. “As American as they come. He radiates that strength and authority like those Americans in action movies.”

She doesn’t mention that that same aspect of him makes her mouth go dry and lights her nerves on fire.

“A cop in Chicago?” Gunnar nods, “Doesn’t sound like something that gives someone a lot of time to make friends. Or find love.” He adds that last part like an afterthought, but she knows her Dad well enough to see the suggestion. “But I only know what I hear from movies.” He lowers his voice as if they’re speaking secrets again. “So tell me, is he handsome?”

“Papa!” He chortles as she gives him a scandalized look. Her face heats up. She elects to not answer, but her reaction is enough for him.

“He’s in trouble a lot recently.” Riley finds herself saying instead, leaning on his memories this time. She wonders what else they can borrow from each other. Could he speak Icelandic, or run he equipment? Could she shoot a gun? “Saved a kid who was part of a gang, from dying to a gunshot.” She frowns, furrows her eyebrows. “Almost got suspended for it, I think.”

“He’s a good man, then.” Not a question. “And no good deed goes unpunished, it seems.”

“Yes.”

“I never liked that Jacks fellow.”

“I know, Papa.” Truthfully, she didn’t either. But he was only there for a distraction... It shocked her how little she felt when he died. Gunnar’s eye turns keen on her, a seriousness to his tone. “I hope it makes you happy to know him.”

“It does.” She doesn’t mean to say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Magnus sits in the back of her mind like a lead weight around her ankle, holding her down with guilt. Without the help of drugs, he and Luna’s memory will be even more present and that makes her heart seize. She wants to apologize and run away from how she feels, but she knows that her connection to Will is inevitable in some way. It’s innervating, it makes her feel alive.

She will tell Will about them, eventually. Maybe even show him their gravestone.

Gunnar stands and steps out to refill her glass of water and on a whim she stumbles after him a few seconds later. The house is dark now, sunlight long snuffed out by twilight. It takes her eyes a second to adjust, but she sits on the piano stool and works on calming her churning stomach. Far from oblivious to the situation, her papa brings a garbage bin over with the glass of water, setting it to her side and patting it as a precautionary measure. He squeezes in next to her and sets his fingers on the keys almost immediately.

The song starts off slow, and she recognizes it in the first five notes. “Moonlight Sonata?”

“The very same.” He closes his eyes and loses himself for a moment. She can’t help but entrance herself in the dulcet tones of his piano. “It feels right for now.”

“I’ve never heard you play it before.”

“I learned it last year.” He replies, never missing a key. “It’s one of the simpler pieces, I know. The symphony was surprised that I didn’t know it so.” He shrugs a shoulder, “I learned it. Do you want me to play something different?”

“No, that’s okay. I just want you to play.” She sips at the water, enjoying the embrace of the chilly air. Riley lets him play for a while, and he’s moving onto the second movement when she broaches a subject she knows she’s avoided for too long. “I think I will go to their grave before I leave Iceland this time, Papa.”

Such a simple set of words, but so much weight behind them for her, so much off of her shoulders just making that decision.

“Good. Just know that you are always welcome home.” Gunnar smiles, switches flawlessly to her favorite piece. He looks at her, then wraps an arm around her neck and kisses her sweaty forehead. “I hope it helps you to heal. Just as I hope your cop friend helps you to be happy.”

“Me too.” She mirrors his smile, “Me too.”

/ / / /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gunnar is underutilized, what a great side character. Side note: I've actually talked to a few Icelanders since I watched Sense8. Apparently Riley's a pretty big outlier when it comes to the drug use. Also, apparently there's an entire Naming Committee in Iceland. It's fascinating.
> 
> I think the biggest thing I'd change in this chapter if I ever were to write it past the rough draft is the conversation that Gunnar and Riley have about Luna and Magnus.
> 
> See you next chapter.  
> \- Vax


	4. Riley: Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will joins Riley in detox-ville and meets the Father. They make up a name for the Sensate ability and we learn some more about Will and Riley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I'd want to work more on if I wasn't just rough drafting this story. The overall beats and plot is there, but it's rougher than coal.
> 
> It's super hard not to edit as I go.

/ / / /

Riley lasts throughout most of the next day before she and Will are visiting again. Her father has gone to sleep, again at her insistence when he dozes off not once but twice while sitting beside her. It wasn’t much of a surprise for a man of his age, though the way he sat up with her through the night and until the sun is up again catches her off guard. Still, she lays him down in his bed and tucks him in herself, laying a gentle kiss on his forehead and ensuring that the curtains are tightly closed. The room is engulfed in darkness. She stumbles out as best she can without hurting herself and nearly doesn’t make it back into the bathroom before she’s expelling whatever’s left in her stomach.

Really, it’s becoming quite a bother.

She resolves herself to dealing with everything as best she can without worrying Will, since she’s sure he’s out performing his duties as an officer and she’s still quite worried about whether or not he’ll judge her for her state. But once an hour passes and she feels no better, Will’s number is already dialed in her phone and ringing. It’s a compulsion, more than an active train of action. He doesn’t pick up, but she does feel him slide into her space like a breath of fresh air. He’s immediate and he’s comforting, she feels better within moments.

“You know, this isn’t really necess-” He cuts himself off, his phone presented to her in concert with what he had been intending to say. Riley takes his speechless moment to look at him - it was foolish of her to think that this situation of hers wouldn’t apply to him in some way. He’s flushed and sweating, dressed in only a pair of basketball shorts. And he’s sitting at home, bare back pressed firmly into a cool part of the wall. “Jesus, Riley.” Will says, tossing his phone to the side. He springs up to lean over her, wiping hair out of her eyes. “Are you okay? What’s- Oh...”

She winces.

“You’re detoxing.” Will frowns, pulling back an inch. It feels like a mile to her. He sits on his calves. Riley hears the storm of thoughts that roar through his head, sees the memories of places he’s seen this very same thing. She reminds herself;  _ he’s probably seen this more than she has _ . It’s a jaded run through his head, highlighting run down houses full of the suffering. There’s a very long, uncomfortable silence where he adjusts his train of thought to a more useful track. His expression changes then. It goes from worry and surprise to a simple worry. She remembers seeing it on her father the first time she’d had a particularly bad set of cramps during her teens. Seeing it on Will alleviates any reservations she may have had. It makes her feel foolish for having them. He leans forward again, “You alright?”

“Sometimes.” The answer is reflexive. It strikes her that they have their first inside joke when his lips curl up in a half smile. Riley adjusts herself against the wall and scratches at the hair behind her ear. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t look it.” Will moves himself to sit next to her again, “Or feel it. I know that,” He groans as he settles against the wall, “I know because I can feel it. It’s terrible.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He crosses his arms. She rests her head on his shoulder, his skin fever hot against her temple. The buzzing hum of their connection eases her wild mind. She feels Will shift his shoulder, moving her head onto a part of him that’s more comfortable for her. There’s an understanding she has of him, a revelation of exactly how in tune and aware he is of his body and every movement it makes. It’s an almost awkward feeling when she hears his thoughts so clearly, as if they’re her own. But then again, most new things felt awkward at first. She felt like chaos in comparison to him - everything about his mind was ordered, categorical, aware. It moves quick, jumping from one subject to the next, alternating over ideas and solutions. Riley closes her eyes and follows along until it stops. Will reaches a hand over to stroke her hair and lets out a slow breath. “You should be in a hospital for this.”

“Icelanders don’t really…” Riley purses her lips to the side and considers her words, “Most Icelanders don’t go past pot.”

“You think they’ll judge you?”

“Icelanders really like it when you find success somewhere else, then come home.” She explains. “They respect you more. I don’t want anyone to look at my papa or me and think about me coming back as…”

“A druggie.” Will finishes her thought for her. He slides a cloth into his hand and lifts it to wipe at her forehead. “I hate that word.”

“You are a cop.” Riley shrugs, but the undercurrent of her question is obvious to Will. His thoughts are clear as day to her - it only makes sense that the opposite is true. “I-”

“Riley. It’s okay.” In some way, she hates hanging on his words like she is. In another, however, she can feel physically how his mindset is changing in the moment. She smiles and kisses his shoulder, pulling back to look up at him. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I can hear what you’re thinking.” She says, “We have a saying here in Iceland; Drugs don’t make an addict. It’s the need to escape reality.”

“And what are you escaping?” Will catches himself again, clenching his eyes shut. “Sorry, cop habit again.”

“It’s okay.” She rests her head on the wall again. He understands that she intends to tell him, though Riley still isn’t sure when she will. Instead, she presses her head into his arm and snuggles into him again, enjoying the feel of his skin and the warmth of his conscious synchronous with hers. It’s like a blanket on a cold night. Resonant. She wants to be closer, closer, closer. If she didn’t feel so terrible... His chuckle rumbles through his body as she realizes she’s staring quite intensely at the smooth muscle on his shoulder. “I can hear your thoughts too, you know.”

She thinks something else - something very much involving heat and sweat - and feels him flush. Riley kisses his shoulder and giggles as quietly as she can, closing her eyes again. “So.” A subject change is in order. “Do you think there’s more of us?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to think there are.” Will frowns, lets her up and holds her hair back while she dry heaves. He soothes her the best he can and helps her back to where they were sitting before. “I don’t know how we’d even begin to find them if there are.”

“Limbic Resonance.” The words come back to her like a spike in her chest. To answer his question, she continues. “Nyx told me about it the first time we met. It’s a theory about emotional connections-” Riley rubs at her forehead, “I can’t remember all of it.”

“Drugs?” He guesses. Then he nods, stopping himself from smiling. “Drugs.”

“Oh, shush. The first time I saw you I was on drugs, you know.” Something occurs to her. She looks around his wonderful little apartment. “Why are you home?”

“Personal day. You know, I got this weird fever, nausea...”

Riley nods as he trails off.

“I could tell you didn’t want me to visit yesterday. I figured it had something to do with you.”

She nods again.

“Let’s pool brainpower, then, since neither of us are doing anything.” When she questions him with a look, he continues, “What all have we figured out about this… thing?”

“Can we start with a name?” Riley asks first, “It would be easier that way.”

“Resonance? At least until we find someone who knows more about what this all is.”

“It’s accurate.” She listens to the subtle buzz in her chest. Places a hand over her heart. “You feel it too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel it.” Will smiles, all teeth and American charm. “So I… took over for you when you got attacked? Or were you still in control?”

“I was watching myself.” She thinks back to that night. It explains how unreal it all felt. The memory was as lucid and clear as a picture, each move from the first moment the wire closed around her throat to the moment Nyx’ head thunked against the table. If she were being honest with herself, there was a catharsis to watching the men who tormented her be put on the floor. However, in place of where her physical presence was whenever she looked back, she saw Will. Will struggling against a garrote, Will’s elbow bloodied as it struck a nose, Will’s face contorted in utter fury. Riley frowns. “Or, I was watching you?”

“I can see that memory.” He smiles again, chuckles and repeats for the thousandth time since they’ve met; “This is so cool.”

Then he takes control of the memory himself, and Riley’s along with the ride from his side - both in the bar with his peers and with her. There’s that order again. She stares as Will begins his… investigation? Analysis? She watches him categorize things, enjoys the ride along in his head and entrances herself with the look on his face, the intensity that he works. She smiles at him when he looks at her, and just like that they’re back in the bathroom. “We… switched?”

“We switched. It makes sense.” She lifts one of his sweaty towels from his floor, in his physical space, and presents it to him. “I’m not there, but I can touch and move this. But I think that means you’re actually moving it. I can feel how damp it is, but my hands aren’t the ones wet afterwards.”

“Huh.” He takes it from her, turning it over in his hands before setting it back down. “But how does that work if…” He twists his lips and waves his hands in a circle, “You know, say both of us are lifting something from across the room? Or if I lift something too heavy for you?”

“Mystery of the universe.” She shrugs a shoulder, rubbing at her eyes. Absently, Riley wondered what sort of art his mind could make. Presently, she pools her discoveries with his. “So I have another idea.  _Talar þú íslensku_? ”

“I understood that!” He lights up, but it doesn’t last too long. “But I don’t know how to reply.”

“ _ Parlais-tu français?” _

“I uh, no.”

“ _ Spreek jij Nederlands? _ ”

“Now you’re just showing off.” Will gives her a flat look. She giggles. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Seven.”

“Seve- Okay, okay. Don’t sound so casual about it.” He grumbles, “You’re making me feel stupid. I can’t speak more than one. I failed Spanish.”

“Right now. Maybe it comes with time... or situation?” She feels her lip twist in a wry little smile, “Like how I can’t fight like you can.”

“Right. So we can switch. What else?”

“Uh, Well the visiting? I think we’re only speaking physically if we’re not… you know, doing the visiting.”

“That makes sense. Diego didn’t look at me like I was crazy unless you were visiting me. I got shit for kissing air for hours.” He sniffs once, and she feels a devil’s advocation coming. “Do you think there’s something that blocks... this?”

“Unconsciousness? You were gone when I fell asleep on the plane.”

“Yeah. But is that because we’re new to this?” Will nods at her guess. She can see the gears working behind his eyes. “Will it get to the point that we can visit if one of us is unconscious? It’s not like the resonance goes away when we’re asleep.”

She hadn’t thought of that. When it came to such an abstract concept, she found it hard to wrap her head around how any of this would work. Absolving herself to test it later, Riley wonders if there’s a scientist somewhere who could explain it. Will runs a hand through his hair, scratches at the stubble growing on his jaw, then chews on his lip. “When were you born?” He asks, “I have a theory.”

“August 8th.”

“Ah! Me too!” He smiles, then his eyes roll around the surroundings while he does mental math. “What time?”

“Uh, some time mid day.”

“Around one?”

“I- Yeah.” She frowns at him. Through his eyes, she sees her expression and feels the little bit of smugness that comes with being proven right. “How did you know?”

“Because I was born at eight that morning.” His smile is infuriating, if only because he’s being too smart for his own good and she finds it stupid attractive. He gestures towards the clock on his wall, then out of her bathroom door to another clock. Five hours of difference. “Time zones.”

He raises his eyebrows in a ‘come on’ gesture. Her pain addled mind takes a second.

“We took our first breath together!” She exclaims once she understands what he’s getting at. “So that means we can find others that way.”

“That narrows it down a little bit.” Will twists to face her, resting his arms on his knees. His concern flows through their connection again and resonates in her chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She says, looking at herself through his eyes again. Riley decides she doesn’t look much better though. Her eyes are still sunken, her hair is still frazzled, her lips are chapped and she shines with sweat. Worse is how pallid she looks, though she wouldn’t ever consider herself to have a tan in the first place. “Better with you here.”

Will just smiles. “I’ll be here as long as you need.”

She steals a kiss from him.

/ / / /

Will’s true to his word, as she expects. They pass the time by talking details, filling in idle things about each other. They share favorite colors and foods(she really wants to try a hot dog from Chicago thanks to him), past jobs and future plans. He asks why she got into being a DJ instead of learning an instrument like her father, she asks why he became a cop like his father when he wasn’t sure. Riley learns quite quickly that they can’t lie to each other - the fact that they can read each other’s mind stops that - but she also learns that she doesn’t really want to lie to Will. He’s so genuine and open with how he feels and thinks that she just wants to give him the world. She wants to kiss away his worries and mutter sweet nothings across his skin.

It’s mutual. It’s compulsive. It’s as frightening as it is exciting.

They talk until she’s too tired to keep going, then he helps her up to her room and tucks her in himself. Will settles in behind her and holds her while she drifts off, and though he isn’t there when she wakes up she feels the low buzz of him in the world and smiles. Then she’s up and moving, rubbing at her arms and feeling terribly cold compared to yesterday - but better. Now that her nausea was down, she was  _ ravenous.  _ Riley showers in record time, pulling on whatever clothes were warm and close, then takes to the kitchen. She pokes and prods at Will while she looks for food, testing the bond. She’s turning with some bread in her hands when she visits, spotting his sleeping form sprawled over his bed. He’s peaceful, breathing slowly and deeply. No worry lines. She celebrates by hopping on the balls of her feet and tries to figure out what she’s doing to make it work.

Riley has to resolve herself to asking Will about it when her father pops into her view. “Ah, someone’s feeling better!” He says with that wide smile of his, stepping over to embrace her. “It brings me such joy to see you up and moving.”

“Much better.” She agrees and takes a bite of the bread, fixing him with her best attempt at puppy dog eyes. Her tone is honey sweet. “You know, I could go for  _ pönnukökur,  _ papa.”

“Of course you could.” Gunnar’s eyes twinkle and he sets to work. “I think I could too. Sit, sit. Tell me how you are feeling.”

“Thanks.” She does as he says, settling down at the table and resting her head on her palm. “I am not feeling sick anymore, to start.”

“That’s good!”

“My headache is still here,” Riley sighs, “And my body still hurts. I’m still shaking.”

“But you’re past the worst of it, Riles.” Gunnar points at her with a spoon, “I heard you talking to your uh... friend last night.”

“Oh?” She frowns, curious as to what part of the conversation he heard. Hopefully it was nothing too strange. Riley grasps for something to say. “He wants to meet you.”

“I want to meet him. You sounded very happy talking to him.”

“He is a wonderful person.”

“Good.” Gunnar sets the bowl down and adds milk to the batter. “If you are happy, then I am happy. But as your father, I am afraid I must tease you about your boyfriend. It’s my privilege.”

“Papa.” Her scold is quick and fierce, but a lingering question sits in the back of her mind.  _ Boyfriend? _

“Good question.” Will’s voice shocks her, as low and thick with sleep. He’s to her side, rubbing his eyes from where he sits on his bed. Their first kiss echoes in her mind, a question from him. “Is that what we are?”

She doesn’t answer, but not only is his curiosity colored with hope, she feels herself wondering if they are - in fact - dating. More importantly, why not? The thought makes her giddy, like she’s a teenager again, so she listens to Gunnar’s doting comments about Will and treating her right with a half smile and glances at him out of the side of her eyes. Eventually, she picks up her phone and dials Will’s number. He rolls his eyes and answers.

“Good morning,  _ Sæti _ .” Riley coos, drawing an amused look from her father. Will rolls his eyes again. “My papa is talking about you, you know. It’s not all good.”

“This is so unnecessary.” Will chuckles anyway. He looks at the older man and puts two and two together like the good cop he is. “You’re trying to get me to talk to him.”

“If you insist.” She holds the phone out to her father and waits. Gunnar chuckles and takes the phone, speaking in Icelandic. “Good morning, how are you?” He asks, “Sleep well?”

“I am doing great.” Will responds - in Icelandic. She hears them both twice. “I always sleep well when dreaming about a beautiful woman.”

Panic floods through him after he realizes the implication of what he just said. Riley purses her lips, amused.

“Hmm.” Her father pulls the phone down to his shoulder, unaware that it does nothing to mute him. “I think I like him, Riles.”

Riley smiles and watches her father press the phone against his shoulder with his chin and go back to work. She sits and listens to her two men converse in low tones about her. It’s entirely too domestic and entirely too pleasing to have them get along. Eventually, the conversation changes from Will to Gunnar as Will feeds his cop habit of asking too many questions. She tunes them out for a while, and when she begins to pay attention again she’s on her third  _ pönnukökur.  _ “So you play Beethoven?”

“I do.” Gunnar confirms, “Do you listen to any?”

“I’m more of a Chopin man myself.” Will lies smoothly, winking at Riley. She hides her giggle behind her hand and feels herself perk up as her father places her breakfast down on the table. Gunnar pulls the phone away from his face to shake his head at it. “Pah, Chopin.” Gunnar grunts, “Well, to each their own.”

“I’m just kidding.” Will admits, “I hear you’re quite good.”

“It’s a lot of practice, hard work.”

“Most things are.”

“Relationships are too.” Gunnar continues. Will chuckles and Riley affixes her father with as harsh of a glare as she can muster, chagrined. “ _ Papa!” _

“They are.” She sees Will shift his weight, lean forward and his eyes come to focus on her. She fights the embarrassment her father is currently causing. “But your daughter is a wonderful woman. I’d just like her to be happy.”

“Good. It is nice to meet you.”

He hands the phone back to Riley, who tries to keep her glare up. “I’m sorry about him.”

“He’s nicer than my last girlfriend’s father.” She gets a memory from him, one that she almost doesn’t believe. A dark knight, low light, a man with a definite masculinity issue and the  _ click-clack  _ of a shotgun. “See?”

“He really did that?” The phone is set down and put on speaker so she can eat. “You’re on speaker, by the way. A gun?”

“Yep.” Will is up and moving himself now, she hears clinking of dishes through his ears. The smell of eggs frying. The handset pops. “Her father was southern. Missouri, I think. Greeting the boyfriend with a shotgun is apparently a usual thing down there.”

“Sounds barbaric.” Gunnar quips.

“Sounds stupid.” Riley corrects.

“It is stupid.” Will sets himself down at the table… or at his table - she’s still not quite sure how this all works. She just eats her food and lets it happen. “But not illegal over here. Just…”

“Trashy?” She supplies the word directly out of his mind, grinning. “Insecure?”

“As a man with a beautiful daughter,” Her father cuts in, “I can understand.”

“Riley is quite the looker. But I plead the fifth.” Will’s quiet for a moment. She feels his eyes on her and flushes. Riley tries and fails not to smile. “You two know what that means, right?”

“We’re Icelandic, _ kærasti, _ ” Riley sighs between bites, feeling his amusement envelop her. To her delight, he likes the pet names. “Not uneducated.”

“We watch movies. Many of which are set in America.” Her father adds, smiling. “Have you ever been to Iceland?”

“No. But I hear it’s beautiful. I don’t get a lot of time to leave the country, but I wish I could.” She feels Will smile more than she sees it. He’s looking out of the window, his face full of longing. “I’m with you in spirit though.” - Quite literally. - “I have met a lot of people from the rest of the world though. I’ve got so many places I want to go. I’m envious of your daughter in that way.” There’s a long pause. To her side, Will looks between the two of them. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting some family time… I can hang up if you want.”

“No, this is alright.” Gunnar waves his hand through the air, “I have not seen my daughter smile so much as I have recently. It warms an old man’s heart.”

Riley beams at him.

“I’d definitely love to hear you play sometime,” Will acts as if he can’t see their exchange. She finishes her  _ pönnukökur  _ and leans back with a happy sigh. “Riley tells me you were asked back into a symphony?”

“I hope you can one day. They said they could not imagine playing Beethoven without me.”

“High praise. There are so many artists I haven’t been able to go and see.” He launches into a varied discussion with her father about missing concerts of artists who’ve died young or broken apart, while Riley visits him in his space and wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind. “This is nice.” She says while he chats, pressing her lips to his temple. “I’m glad you two are getting along.”

The chat lasts for a while, with Will impressing even her with his knowledge of fringe bands. She lists down songs he recommends, considerations for both casual listening and one of her shows, settling herself down in his kitchen across from him and watching his face as he talks. She thinks of Magnus again, compares them without meaning to. It’s unfair and she knows it, but she thinks about how things might be if they hadn’t ever gone on the mountain. She thinks about his beard going grey and his skin wrinkling from laughter and smiles, she thinks about Luna’s pudgy little fingers and the woman she might have grown up to be. She wonders if Luna would have liked Will, or if Will and Magnus would have gotten along. Would she have even met this man if she hadn’t become who she became? Would the old Riley have fallen for Will the same way she can feel herself falling? What would have happened? What would Magnus think of the way she chose to lose herself over the last several years - the drugs, stimulant and depressant, and the sex, both straight and sapphic.

What would he say?

She feels like being sick again.

In a way, she supposes that it doesn’t even matter. Riley Gunnarsdóttir died with Magnus and Luna on that mountain. Riley Blue was born, a woman who couldn’t go a day without an escape, one who saw how nothing could be beautiful. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever love someone like she loved Magnus. Except...

Except this is the first time in years she’s felt like things were going to be okay again - Like there were steps beyond the next day. Like maybe it would be okay. Will is the first person she’s ever felt so connected with.

_ Everything you love dies here.  _ Her demons coo.  _ Everything. Leave this place. _

After a while, she realizes that both Will and her father are staring at her. She sniffs and wipes her tear stained cheeks, closing her eyes. It’s a chore to still the pounding drumbeat of her heart, to cut away at the barbed wire around her chest and slow the frantic thoughts in her head. She feels too hot and too cold, so cold. Like ice. She rubs the scars on her knuckles and tries to breathe through the tightness in her chest. Will’s eyes focus on the damaged skin. 

“Riles?” Her father asks first. “Are you okay?”

“Riley?” Will asks a moment after, his hand coming to rest on her elbow. He must have hit the mute button, because his voice doesn’t come through the handset. “I feel that, my God.” He looks uncomfortable, standing from his chair and stepping around the table to her. His rough hands wrap around hers and his thumb soothes over the scars in small circles. Tears are in his eyes, unfalling. “That’s so much,  _ God. _ I don’t know what it is, but I’m here for you.”

Yes, Magnus would have loved Will. She’s sure she will.

“I’m okay.” She says after a time. Her demons will never let her be while she is here. It’s a truth that breaks her heart. She can’t stay. Tears slide down her cheeks. She wipes them with her palm and hugs herself. Her father frowns, then leans forward and taps the mute button on her phone. “Is this about-”

She nods, unwilling to let him finish his thought. “Yes, papa.”

“Do you feel... guilty?” Will frowns at that, but doesn’t say anything. She can see him putting together the pieces. “He would want you to find happiness.”

“No, I know, Papa.” She smiles, and lies. “I’m just thinking of how sad it will be to leave Iceland again.”

“Oh, Riles.” Gunnar shakes his head, leaning forward to take her hand in his. “You could never lie to me.”

Riley doesn’t deny it, instead she brushes at her nose with her free hand and clears her throat, before leaning over and tapping the unmute button. “I’m thinking about looking up to see what shows I can book in Chicago after I watch you play.”

“Whatever you want, my daughter.” He concedes. “I know it is hard for you to stay here.”

“Is that smart?” Will asks at the same time, his phone still muted. He unmutes it for Gunnar’s sake, “It’s a bit of a risk, if Nyx is still alive. If he’s holding a grudge, he might try something.”

“Then it’s a good thing my boyfriend is a cop.” She argues, swallowing away the emotion in her voice. “And a good one at that.”

“Okay, flattery will get you everywhere… But...” He stops himself and sighs, a long-suffering thing. He concedes as well. Riley meets his eyes, reads the indecision in his thoughts, then follows along while he details several plans of actions for each scenario regarding Nyx. Some of them were absurd, some of them were illogical, but most of them were a real possibility. All the while his thumb strokes across her knuckles, and the memory of that pain ghosts across her. Will is staring off into space, stuck in his planning. Her mind is stuck on gravestones, blood, and ice.

She makes a decision.

“Papa,” Riley squeezes both of her men’s hands, “Do you know if Sven is home?”

/ / / /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some foreshadowing in there. See you next time.
> 
> -Vax


	5. Will: Tombstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which grief cuts like a hard truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check A/N at the end for specific thoughts.
> 
> It was really hard not to edit this chapter to the extreme. I did reference a few other Sense8 fics in this chapter though. Gold star if anyone can name them all.
> 
> Enjoy.

/ / / /

“I never went to their funeral.” Riley says to him after a long while, knees planted firmly in the grass and dirt. She sniffs once. Will stands a distance away, watching her kneel in front of gravestones. He’s both warm in his home and freezing in Iceland, his mind a whirl of her memories. The gravestone is small and unassuming, jutting out at odd angles and pointing toward the sky - He’s with her then, crosses his legs and leaning forward to drag his finger across the plaque on the stone. _Magnus Þórsson. Luna Magnusdóttir_. Loving Husband, Beautiful Daughter. Something about it fills him with an existential sort of dread. Twenty two years old, and not even a day old. What an awful tragedy - This could be him, or a child of his.

_Seven years._

He understands where her pain comes from now.

“I’m sad I’ll never get to meet them.” Will says, since he can’t think of anything else. His mind is a blank slate painted by blood and snow. He’s afraid, so afraid, of looking further into that memory. She looks at him and nods, not bothering to brush away the tears on her cheeks. “I never got to say goodbye to him. Or tell him I love him. All I did in those last moments-”

I’m so cold. His mind supplies for her. For a second he’s in the car, deep breaths and painful groans. His stomach is too big, he can’t see very far - so far, the hospital is so far. The blizzard’s chill - _So cold, I’m so cold_ \- bites into his skin and Will wrests himself out of the memory, but he knows what happens next without it. “You couldn’t have possibly known.”

“I know.” She brushes her hand over the grass and stares at her daughter’s name. Riley just looks on the grave, as if afraid to touch it. “I’m sorry I haven’t come back, my loves… I’m sorry that I couldn’t say goodbye.”

_You are now…_ Will thinks, and though he’s not willing to say it out loud he knows she’ll hear it. He’s seen this too many times, watched his fellow officers fall to pieces over time. He’s seen the end of car crashes, he’s had to sit men and women down and watch them grieve over a loved one lying under a blanket not even twenty foot away. Watched machines unfold a car from a tree or a girder. Explained to children that their parents or siblings weren’t coming back, and watched the innocence drain away. The worst were the ones he checked up on afterwards or the ones that have to go to court. The ones who’d thanked him for his part in keeping their life even as they wish it otherwise. Will feels a tear roll down his cheek, sees himself through Riley's eyes. He's crying like a jaded cop, without expression. It’s a regret of his that his next thought is distant. _Survivors guilt._

“Maybe. Death doesn’t let you say goodbye, Will.” She swallows the emotion and plays with her own fingers, a sardonic little laugh in her throat. “It just tears a hole in you. In your future. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see a stranger.” When he doesn’t speak, she places a hand on the stone. “The Riley that loved this man died on that mountain. She’s laying here with her husband and her daughter.”

“I’m sorry.” Will has to clear his throat. He feels his legs burning, his arms are tired from carrying Luna, his hands stiff with chill and frozen blood. He knows his knuckles would hurt if they weren’t so numb. The mountain around would be beautiful, the sun casting warm rays on his face. If only he weren’t cold, _so cold, so_ \- Will lets out a breath again. “Riley.” He says, “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I know it's a lot.” She leans until their shoulders are touching, “Just… Just sit here with me and remember.”

He does.

It’s frozen and loud, the wind whining it’s way around the car as it skips and jumps over the uneven road. He’s himself watching and Riley in the passenger seat, as she huffs and puffs, squeezing Magnus’ hand as hard as she can with each pulse of pain. “Oh, I’m so cold.” He breathes, reaching over to adjust the temperature for the third time in the last minute. Something’s not right, the chill is too much, she’s too cold, he’s _too cold_. “It’s as high as it will go…” Magnus replies, pulling her hand back to try to adjust it himself. He feels the warmth of his hands, feels a surge of love and affection, it’s strong and is quickly eclipsed by another contraction. “Here-” The seat belt comes undone and Will feels his stomach sink from where he watches, as a passenger twice. “Take my jacket.”

“No, no, don’t do that.” He whispers, looking around the car. Panic spikes him with energy. “It’s not safe, you need that. Too fast, we’re going too fast.”

“No no no no, You need that!”

“I’m hot blooded.” Magnus smiles at him and for a moment he believes it will be okay. He smiles and Will smiles and it’s so kind, so sweet. “Don’t worry. I want to keep you both warm.” He huddles below the jacket and feels another lance of pain through his body right before the car lurches - There’s vertigo and lashes of color and sound. And pain. There’s the sound of cracking glass, two voices screaming, a splatter of blood - _no, oh no no,_ he thinks, _the baby! Magnus!_ \- then an impact and the world goes black.

Will bolts back to himself and chokes out a sob. He crawls on his hands and feet and jumps to stand, whirling and listening to his heart roaring in his ears. When he closes his eyes there’s flashes of light and cracking glass. In his home he wraps his hand around his pistol and nearly brings it to bear - It takes him a minute to recognize where he is. Or who he is. The cool, solid weight of his weapon grounds him, brings him a comfort he didn’t know existed. He looks down at his arms and hands, then places his head in them and breathes. He’s been in collisions before, both giving and receiving… But never to that degree.

Riley watches him from off to the side, her eyebrows up and drawn together. “Fuck.” Will swears, wiping at his face. He sets the gun on the table again. “I- Fuck.” He wrestles to control his body, slows his breathing and shakes his head. His eyes burn, and he’s covered in sweat. When he feels like he could breathe again he rubs his arms against the chill set in his bones and moves back to stand over her in Iceland. Pieces fall into place.

“You gave birth in the car afterwards, didn’t you?” So much pain, then the sheer stomach-sinking mix of joy and fear afterwards. “Broke your way out.” The scars on her knuckles. “Tri- Tried to walk to safety.”

Fear, hopelessness. Cold, sharp as a knife on exposed skin.

“She was beautiful.” Luna flashes through their minds. So small, so precious, such a beautiful little baby, but it was cold, so cold, so hard to protect her from the cold, must _protect_ , _must_ \- “I tried to keep her warm.” Riley interrupts the wild chaos and presents her scarred knuckles. He wants to brush the tears away as they fall and tell her everything is okay. But It isn’t right now. “I broke the windshield.”

Will sits down next to her again, facing her. His chest feels like it’s being crushed. Pain lances in his knuckles, then there’s wind and cold and walking - so much walking. So much cold, _so cold._

“After that I started walking. I didn’t know exactly where I was going but I think I was just hoping to find someone… anyone. After a while…” Riley sniffs and the tears flow more freely. “After a while, Luna wasn’t breathing so well. It was too cold… Then she wasn’t breathing at all.”

He remembers it. He remembers looking down at Luna and speaking meaningless apologies to a life cut short. Will thinks it’s finally okay to die. He lays down in the snow, wrapping himself around the child with the last of his strength - he only hopes that she’ll still be alive when someone finds them later. Then the chill slowly turns to warmth, and the last thing he remembers seeing is a woman standing in the sunlight. The sound of wind and something flying. A rescue chopper - it feels like a dream. He’s afr- no she was afraid that it wasn’t.

“Someone found you.” He says, and she smiles. It’s a raw, emotionless thing - nothing like the joy she had that morning. Will feels himself grow hot with a rage, such rage that he can’t direct at anything. He feels the urge to get up and pace, to move around and take action. To fight in some way - it wouldn’t help anyone. It was a blameless situation, and it was already over - He’s seven years too late. The next, of course, is obvious. “They were too late to save Luna.”  
“They saved me so that I could die every day. It shouldn’t have been her.” Riley looks at the grave again. Stares for a long time. “I was afraid to come here. I was afraid that I would want to lie down and die if I did. Or worse, maybe that I wouldn’t.” A humorless chuckle escapes her, “I guess I’ve been in the bargaining stage for years. Getting high to trade away my pain.”

“I’m so sorry. Riley-”

“I’m cursed, Will. Hexed. I can’t stay in Iceland.” He gets taunts through her, a voice he doesn’t recognize. She’s crying again. “I lost my mother and I lost them. They’re dead because I stayed here. The way I feel about you... I- I don’t want to lose you too.”  
He nods, because that’s all he can think to do. Mentally notes down ‘hexed?’ then wraps his hands around hers and slides his thumb up and down her skin, over the scars on her knuckles and wrists. Suicide cuts. Failures. Their deaths weren’t her fault, but Will can’t find it in himself to say the words. It feels like a useless platitude. Riley sniffles and says in a very small, very weak voice, “Say something, _please. Anything_.”

He wants to tell her that he’ll never leave her alone in the world, but he can’t. He’s not invincible, nobody is. Will thinks about his father. About Sara Patrell and Deshawn. Thinks about Diego and his wonderful wife and beautiful kids. He thinks about his mother, and the empty void left in a child’s heart. It’s not about the past, he recognizes, it’s about the present and the future. It’s about being realistic. There’s grief, so much grief in Riley. She’s soused in grief and guilt and _worry_.

It comes to him like a proverb; Grief is the past, but worry? Worry is the future.

“I wish I had something optimistic to say to you. A story to share, or something. But I’m a cop. It’s a dangerous job, in a dangerous city, surrounded by dangerous people. All I can promise is that I’ll be careful, because I don’t have anything else. I know it’s not much of a promise.” Will says after the silence stretches out. He knows he’s crying, he can see himself through her eyes. It’s undignified and vulnerable, the tears searing their way down his cold cheeks. “I really wish I knew what to say, but all I can tell you is that I feel what you’re feeling. I feel it, Riley, and that means you can feel what I’m feeling.” He leans forward, takes her face in his hands and presses his forehead to hers. Wishes so strongly that he could bear it all for her, then takes what he’s feeling - determination and empathy, vulnerability and something so warm he’s sure his chest might catch fire - and presses it at her. “So if you ever feel like you want to lay down and give up, you come share your pain with me. If you’re ever worried, you can check in on me any time. _Any_ time.”

She nods against him, exhaling a small sob. Her hand settles on his chest and on his on hers, the pair of them focused entirely on the presence of each other. The heartbeat there, strong, steady, alive. The space each of them share that is wholly and unconditionally owned by the other. It’s minutes before she speaks again, lost in a maze of her own thoughts. When she does, her voice is steadier. Calmer.

“You saved me when Nyx was going to kill me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” She sniffs and wipes her eyes, “A year ago, that wouldn’t have meant anything to me. But it does now, so... I’ve wanted to thank you for a while now. I think they would want to, too. Because of you I feel hope. Hope that there’s some good in the future. I don’t want to lose that like I’ve already lost them.”

He feels that hope cross into him as she leans forward and presses her lips to his, so much emotion spoken by a chaste little kiss.

“I know, Riley. I know.” Will pulls back after she does and looks at the gravestone, listening to the wind and the sea waves. He thinks of Magnus and Luna, their faces are as clear to him as crystal. “They live in both of us now. I’ll be here to remember them with you.”

Riley hugs herself, and then they’re back in his apartment. He’s sitting against his headboard as she bumps her shoulder on him and sighs - a sound that’s so small that only he could notice it. He notices everything about her, feels her leveling herself out. She wipes at her eyes and leans up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you... Thank you. I haven’t ever told anyone about them. I’ve held it with me for seven years.” 

  
What a sad thought that is. Will glances around his apartment, his frown deepening. “You don’t want to be there?”

  
She shakes her head.

  
“I understand.” More deeply every second.

  
“Do… do you want a happy memory of Magnus?”

  
“Yes.” He says. Nods. Will can’t say he’s ever loved a man - or ever will, when it comes to romance - but through Riley he understands how one could love Magnus. “Only if you want to share.”

  
She searches through her memories for a moment and smiles when she comes on a particularly absurd one. “He picked me up from school on a horse once. Took me on a ride around the grounds. It feels like something that happened to someone else now.”

“A _horse?_ ”

  
“Yes. He got suspended for the week for it.” Will shares her smile with the memory. It’s followed by a giddy sort of feeling - no longer one of just sorrow. “That sort of thing isn’t allowed, even in Iceland.”

“Wow.” He blows air out through his nose, shakes his head and purses his lips against a grin. “I wish I was that creative.”  
“There’s still time. That’s my favorite memory of him.” She rests her head on him and breathes. Will feels the storm of her emotion and thoughts blossoming, so colorful and vivid compared to his. Much less boring, much more beautiful. There’s contentment there, maybe even the start of acceptance. Will glances her way. “Do you want me to give you some time alone?”

  
“No, no it’s okay.” Riley smiles, this one is soft. Wistful. “I think it’s time I go back and tell them about what’s happened with me. And about you.”

  
They sit at the grave for an hour while Riley talks to her lost family.

  
She cries the entire drive back to her house, and Will holds her through it all.

/ / / /

Will stares at the ceiling in his room. 

  
Riley is already asleep, considering the time difference and how emotionally exhausted he can feel she is. It didn’t help that she broke down again when she got back to her father, which ended up being another half hour or so of a mix of catharsis, grief, and pain. In the end, she didn’t want to be alone - isolated, more specifically - citing that she’d have plenty of time to herself while he’s at work. She is sure she’s going to spend most of it planning shows and he’s excited that he’ll get to go to one of them. Currently she’s curled up in his arms in the same clothes she left the house with, her breathing deep and even, expression slack. Her weight is reassuring and comfortable, her warm breath ghosts across his arm. Will isn’t entirely sure how he can still visit with her, if they’re visiting at all, or if it’s just because he’s awake and holding it steady. Maybe it’s just how far they’ve progressed with this connection between them. He hopes that - when he finally gets to sleep - she’s here when he wakes up.  
He’s got to go back to work in the morning, early shift, whether or not any of her symptoms still carry over their bond. Will looks at the uniform and vest across his room, folded neatly and waiting for him. Anxiety wasn’t ever something he associated with his job, but now that he really thought about it - the situation around Chicago warranted some of that existential dread. He lived in a dangerous place for a cop, worked dangerous streets. Seeing the graves had, ironically, given him a new appreciation for Diego and his wariness.

  
Will lays in bed, strokes circles and lines on Riley’s skin, stares at the ceiling and thinks about all the dangerous situations he’s ever been in.

He’s never really considered himself a worrier, but by the time his mind’s gone from dangerous situations he’s been in, into planning for situations he and Riley could find himself in - the sun has gone down and Riley stirs. “You’re thinking too loud, darling. Come here.” She says, in slurred, tired Icelandic. Her hand wraps around his shoulder and she pulls herself up until his head is in the crook of her neck. The embrace provides him with an immediate calm, like she had an intuitive look at something that he didn’t even know he wanted.

A smile, tired and aimed at him. Will gets so much affection through their bond that he’s sure he might cry. Her eyebrow tilts, as if daring him to not listen. “Just rest.”

And then she’s asleep again, holding him in her arms and resting her cheek in his hair.

Will steadies himself on the rhythm of her heartbeat, relaxes into her softness and warmth and closes his eyes and waits. While he doesn’t feel a bit of fatigue, being held seems to do the trick because when he opens his eyes and sees the sky fading blue from the purple twilight. His alarm clock sits minutes off of when it would have gone off. Will reaches over and ticks down the switch to turn it off, which in reality is a risk considering the warmth of Riley spreading over him is so enticing to remain in. The scent of brewing coffee draws him further to the world - He still owes Diego for buying him one that had a timer last Christmas. He blinks until his eyes adjust to the morning light, disentangling himself(with regret) from Riley’s arms and sitting up so that the morning chill kisses his skin and shocks the rest of the tired out of him. She shifts to snuggle into the warmth he’s left, so Will smiles and adjusts the covers more securely around her - though he’s not sure how that works in her room with him not physically there, then draws the beanie off of her head where it’s gone askew. He’s long forgotten how much he enjoys taking care of someone, even something as simple as this - his chest swells with something like nostalgia.  
After smoothing out her hair and planting a kiss on her forehead, he goes through his morning routine. Brush teeth, stretch, coffee, toast.

She’s gone from his bed by the time he retrieves his vest and service pistol. He takes the steps down from his apartment two at a time and slides into the passenger seat of the cruiser whenever Diego arrives. “Good morning, glad someone’s feeling better. Still look like shit, though, but you can’t fix genetics.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nods and closes the door, “Sorry I was out. Didn’t put you through too much trouble, did it?”

“Nah, it’s probably a good thing. I got stuck with that stick in the mud -” That would be Jackson “- but at least people seem to have forgotten some of that Officer Strange bullshit that’s happened recently. Look alive, Gorski.” Diego lifts something shiny out of a bag and tosses it to him. It’s warm when he catches it, smells heavenly. His partner presents his own burrito, then gestures towards the second cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder. “This shit is fresh from the seven-eleven.”

“Nice.” The foil comes away and Will wastes no time digging in. “Thanks, D.”

“Yep, only the highest of quality for Chicago PD.” Diego leans back in his seat and twists the knob on their radio until dispatch crackles through. When they’re not the call, his partner twists in his seat, “So, you and Iceland. That going fine?”  
“Yes?” Will feels himself turn a blank stare at the nickname. “Why?”

“Curiosity. Since your last girl was like a year ago -” Against a glare, Diego bites a generous portion off of his food and talks through it. “I know, we don’t talk about that. Pretty sure her boy is still pissed. Look, point is you don’t date much. Hell, you don’t even hit on the single ladies, so I’m looking for teasing material. It’s my duty as your friend. I’m impressed, though, pretty sure she was hot. Like out of both our leagues hot. Maybe I should call her IcyHot instead? So yeah, how are things?”

“Thanks?” He draws the word out, brow furrowing. She might like that one better. It takes him a second to answer Diego because, well, he can’t exactly say that he spent the entire last day mind-visiting his girlfriend and sharing an emotional breakdown. Diego might be his best friend, but he still doesn’t feel like he can talk about that sort of vulnerability. So instead he says, “Things are good. Long conversations about the past. Hey, so didn’t curiosity kill the cat?”

“Ah, but-!” He lifts a finger, a definite know-it-all motion to couple with his smug smile. Will thinks about the term ‘punchable face.’ “Satisfaction brought it back.”

The first call of the morning comes through for them and they’re off to work

The day passes quickly, with most of their calls being small things like shoplifting and B and E reports, a shoplifting call that has Will giving a slap on the wrist to a kid( _“This shit again, Gorski? Jesus.” Diego groans, “Why do I always gotta be the bad cop?”_ ) One call is a domestic disturbance call that ends with Diego’s cheek red and smarting from a slap and the couple in a matching pair of handcuffs. Processing those two take the rest of the day, which in turn draws his paperwork - which is still including his backlog - out, and when Will makes it home three hours later than his shift ending, he’s so surprisingly tired and aching that he barely has to speak before Riley is setting aside her laptop, drawing him into her arms and stroking his hair. She lays the two of them down and holds him close. Will stays awake long enough to ask her how her day has gone.

It becomes a pattern, with some sprinkling of mid-day visiting to steal kisses, talk, or pass time(they aren’t mutually exclusive). She even sneaks her hands up his uniform once. “I’ve been wanting to.” is her explanation, and he can’t deny that smile. Him untucking his shirt ended up being awkward to explain(to her delight). By the end of his week, she appears to him excited and smiling, beckoning him along to the unknown. He’s at his desk today, finally catching up to his paperwork, so he tries to tell her no - it doesn’t go well. She pleads, gives him a puppy look and that smile, does everything from flutter her eyelashes to wrapping her arms around his neck before Will finally decides that sure, he is a little burnt out and sure, he could use a bit of a break. Not like he was really fighting it to begin with.

Riley’s in a concert hall, surrounded by beautiful music. He looks around and feels himself grinning with her, feeding off of her joy and excitement. “Your Dad’s playing, right.” It feels like he’s too slow sometimes, like he’s caught up in his own world too much to think of her. She shakes her head at him, a reprimand on her mind. Then she slides her fingers between his, squeezing his hand. _Right._ He thinks, _We share thoughts._ Will turns his smile on her after a moment, listens to the rolling notes and trills from the piano. “Wow, He’s really good.”

“I wanted you to be here. I can feel you stressing yourself out.” She whispers, too soft for anyone but him to hear over the orchestra joining in. “You said you wanted to hear him play.”

“I did.” Will rocks back and forth, watching her father’s fingers work their way across his instrument. It’s a beautiful piece, with an almost airy quality whenever the piano’s left to its own space. In a way it’s almost familiar, like he’s heard it before. He rubs Riley’s hand with his thumb while he thinks, “He plays Beethoven, right? Which one is this one?”

“Piano Concerto number five,” She recites it like a verse from a holy book, “in E flat major. Opus 73. I was born to this song. Papa played it over the phone for mama.”

“Wow.”

“That means you were born to it too.” Riley adds, leaning into him. “Same breath, remember?”

“Yeah.” The song is more romantic when he thinks of it that way. Though he can’t say his birth was. “I was born in the back of my Dad’s cruiser. He likes to tell the story of how he pulled me out himself. They couldn’t make it to the hospital in time.”

“Sounds like you were destined to be a cop.” She says it with such fervor and warmth that he regrets not meeting her sooner. He catches glimpses of a little red rotary phone. Riley turns her head towards him and twists her lips, “My dad always says he wishes he could have been there. Now he just refuses to let Sven get rid of the phone they used. He calls it the ‘umbilical phone’ I think. It’s romantic.”

“It is.” He almost laughs, lifting Riley’s hand to place a kiss on the back of her palm while the music swells. “Speaking of romantic, I’d kiss you but I don’t want to embarrass you in front of all these people.”

“So chivalrous. You know I don’t feel the same though.” She visits him instead, wraps her arms around his shoulders and plants a very sloppy kiss on his cheek. Will has to actively avoid jerking away from her in surprise, as well as nearly wiping away at a phantom wet spot. He hides both by scratching at his cheek and glancing off to the side at her, as if he’s just looking out towards the window. She looks positively mischievous, even after he visits her and does the same. They both share equal grins and turn back to the show. The song is nearly over when he feels Riley’s mood change echo into him. “I wanted Luna to be born to this song.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” Riley shifts and Will monitors the way she feels closely. Steady calm, mixes of sorrow and wistfulness, then resolution. Grief holds at the edges of her mind, as if waiting to strike. After a moment she refocuses on the music and wipes at her eyes, saying, “It’s okay. I’m okay. It wouldn’t have happened anyway with Papa in Sweden.”

He throws his arm around her anyway. The concerto rolls smoothly into another song, which Riley lists as quickly as the first and shares a memory associated with it. After the fourth song and fourth happy memory he shuffles in his chair, feeling uncomfortable. She gives him a questioning look, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I feel like I’m undersharing.” Will tries for a bit of self depreciation, lacing it with a bit of truth. “I guess I just don’t have as many happy memories about Chicago as you do about Iceland. Except...”

The only thing he really had was when he used to play catch with his dad. The memory was as clear as if it happened yesterday; He crosses his arms and feels himself smile while Riley clutches him and makes a small ‘aw’ noise at his side. They’re watching from the sidelines, as if they’re actually there, his dad is complimenting him and he, like most boys at six, is talking trash and hanging on every compliment. He wonders if the vividness has something to do with whatever connects both him and Riley - this… resonance - her memories were as clear to him as his as well, from good to bad. Will mentally notes the phenomenon, categorizes it in the ‘ _something to discuss later_ ’ area of his brain. Riley shifts at his side, going from his memory to the auditorium. “You were so cute as a kid.”

“Thanks. We had to stop playing soon after that because that’s when he got the call that led to him getting injured.” Will looks down, nodding slowly. He remembers begging his Dad not to go - maybe it would have changed something. Riley falters and squeezes his hand, reassurance surging through the gesture. He returns it with a grateful smile, feeling her shift the subject with a sad look. “It’s a shame I can’t stay here.”

“It is. You love Iceland,” He pushes his bottom lip up and nods against her ‘so-so’ look, “Whether or not you’re hexed and for whatever reason you are, you have many happy memories you’ve shared. That tells me what you feel about this place.”

“Always a cop.” Her affectionate tone betrays the way her eyes roll, “At least you’re my cop, even if you disapprove of recreational drug use.”

Will winces, clenches his teeth and makes an ‘eh’ sound. His argument isn’t exactly great, “It’s illegal. After detoxing, do you still...”

“I’m not going to indulge in much, sure.” Riley’s eyebrows raise, “But I don’t think it’s a bad thing. They’re not always for escape, sometimes you just want to… color your edges a little.”

He wasn’t convinced.

“I usually try to for my shows. I won’t do it without your permission though.” Riley frowns, “No idea what I’m going to do after the show now.”

“You don’t really need my permission, it’s your body.” A frown of his own.

“I kinda do, though.” She argues, a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face, “Since it affects you too, now. Though, I wonder what you’d be like on ecstasy. You can try it at one of my shows if you want.”

“I get drug tested at random.” He purses his lips, feeling a bit stupid. “I didn’t think about it affecting me.”

_No depressants_ , is his first thought. It’s unrealistic to think she wouldn’t be exposed again, though technically he’s already been exposed too since her initial visits with him were when she was high, or in danger. Like with Nyx. Speaking of Nyx- Riley interrupts his thought process before it continues, “You did forget something about Iceland though.”

“What’s that?”

“My papa lives here, so I do want to stay.” She smiles and nods down at the man as he rocks and sways with the notes he’s playing. A somber note takes hold of her voice, “But it’s too dangerous... I don’t want to stay for too long and risk anything.”

“Whatever you have to do.” Though he’s not convinced that being cursed or hexed is a thing, Will concedes the point and returns back to his paperwork, Beethoven in the background. Riley stays with him in both places, both her hand in his and arms around him. She hums with the music and he signs, stamps, types, and finds himself soon humming along. After another song change, she rubs her cheek on his temple. His hair pricks at her, one of her hands slides across his collar bones and tickles the exposed skin just above his shirt line. “Joining my boyfriend in Chicago is a plus. I wonder how all this changes with me actually there. It’s already so… physical.”

Will chuckles and nods his agreement, which rewards him with one of those really weird stares from his partner. “What’s so funny? Clue the class in?” Diego asks, rolling his tongue around his cheek and gesturing to the other officers in the room. Will scratches at the side of his nose and tilts his head. “Oh, just thinking of how you got bitch slapped by a perp earlier.”

“Yeah...” A scoff at the round of amusement to each side of them. Even Riley bites back a smile. “Real funny, Gorski. Maybe we should tell them about that morning a few days ago, you know where you were-”

“Uh, Truce.” Will interrupts quickly. Diego lets it sit in the air for a while. He takes his time mulling it over - Will feels himself grow more and more anxious while Riley is just as amused - before he nods and says, “That’s what I thought. Never try to out-game me, Gorski.”

“Real hard to come down to your level,” He agrees, “You’ve had more practice throwing punches that low.”

“Alright, so I walk in cause he’s running late, which is unusual for this goodie two-shoes mother fucker, right?” Morales spreads his hands out, as if setting a scene. “And said mother fucker is standing in front of his bedroom window with his hands-”

“Alright, alright!” He raises his hands in defeat, feeling Riley shift around him and smile into the crook of his neck. “I give up.”

“Course you do.” His partner points at another officer, “Note it down, Ramirez. Gorski, zero, Diego… uh…”

“Gorski has two on you.”

“Fine, Gorski two, Diego…” His hands roll in the air, which makes Ramirez sigh. “Three hundred and five.”

“Since we started taking count.” Diego adds, lifting his chin as if it’s important. “Lets not forget, people.”

“I love him,” Riley sways with Beethoven as she watches Diego begin his banter with another set of his peers, “I love that you two are such good friends.”

“Best.” Will whispers, joining her back in the auditorium. “He’s the best and only I had. Until you.”

/ / / /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of felt bad about taking the grave scene away from Capheus like it was in the show, because it was a beautiful scene, but I justified it to myself by remembering that this is a fic without the rest of the cluster. This is Riley and Will's story right now. I hope it ended up feeling right.
> 
> I definitely need more practice with these sort of grief scenes, between trying to keep it concise and readable, but actually convey how both of them are feeling. The pair being sensates and sharing a lot of that emotion is another added layer of complexity since their feelings are supposed to be Pathological(as Jonas puts it). Meaning compulsive. I'm not ecstatic about how it turned out in this rough draft, but I'm not unhappy either. 
> 
> As far as the character study side of this goes, I feel like I'm learning more about Will the more I write him and watch him in Sense8. Initially he struck me as a normal guy, but on rewatch he doesn't seem to have many actual friends(Hence Riley's 'he seems lonely' a few chapters ago), so I'm leaning on that. In the show he's got Diego and he has his strained relationship with his Dad, but the rest of the precinct seems to change their view based on what he does. Since we don't see what he does on his off time, I've had to figure out how he spends it based on context clues. I figure he likes music and going to shows(Judging by how he talks about the music scene to Riley), but doesn't get much spare time. He lives in action, and he'd take the world on his shoulders if it would lessen someone else's pain.
> 
> Riley, on the other hand, has learned how to hold herself together between her escapes into drugs, sex, and partying. But I'd bet that she's supposed to be as lonely as he is considering every friend she has in the show pretty much sells her out for drugs in some way(looking at you, Shugs). The choice for Riley and Will to be two of the sensates of the cluster that 'connect' the way they do, with the others being Kala and Wolfgang ofc, is almost beautiful in that way. Two similar outcomes for different situations, both healing through unique, genuine human connection. Then having things flip on them because of Whispers, but still finding joy even in hardship and grief. It's wonderful and heartwarming, even as it reminds me how lonely life feels sometimes.
> 
> I love this show.
> 
> Stick with me. We're not out of the woods yet.  
> See you next time,  
> Vax


	6. Will: Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's them dancing, Will worrying, and Riley's arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the tougher ones, but that's because it's in the dreaded 'middle' of the story.
> 
> Enjoy.

/ / / /

“I need you to do something for me.”

They’re lounging together, - or their equivalent of together - on his first day off all week and Will is restless. The sun’s gone down already, leaving his apartment a mix of soft warm lights and rays of harsh blue from the street lamps outside. Riley’s not flying until late the next day and, while Will wants to go out and take a run, or go to a restaurant or something. He also wants to wait for her so they can do it together. Instead, because he’s been busy this week, he elects to spend some quality time by watching her adjust her mixes for her second ever show in America. He asks questions and gets detailed and concise answers, but all in all it’s pretty Greek to him. She pulls her headphones off, taps a key on her laptop and prods him with a foot that was settled in his lap. Without quite jumping at the opportunity to move, Will perks up and sets his hands on her bare shins. 

She sucks on her lips to bite back a smile. “You’re going crazy sitting here.”

“I’m not.” Lying was impossible, and they both knew it considering the flat look she gave him. If she were physically present he might be okay having a night in together, but considering how they can literally be with each other at any time - he wants something to do after an action-less week. “Okay, maybe.”

“You remember that I’m in your head?” Riley raises a fine eyebrow in challenge - he enjoys that expression on her; Daring, sexy. That thought makes her smile, and he feels(literally feels, it’s a hard sensation to explain) her eyes rest on his chest. He’s in the middle of deciding whether or not he likes the former expression more when she sets her laptop aside and scoots over until she’s half sitting on his lap. She places both of her hands on his chest, looks him dead in the eyes and with as much seriousness as she can says. “Stop distracting me.”

Will smiles, biting the inside of his cheek. “Fine, fine. What do you need?”

“I need you to go check out the club I’m DJing at.”

“You… want me to go dancing?”

“Basically. You live in action, _sæti_ , I can feel how much you want to move. It’s something I admire about you.” Riley reaches behind her and pulls her laptop between them, spinning it around so he can see the screen. “It’s perfect, right? You get to burn away some of that energy of yours and I get to check out a venue. We both get some stress relief because I’ll be there with you. It feels like I haven’t danced in forever.” Her cheek comes to rest on her fist and one of her fingers curls that lock of blue hair around. Just like that he’s not thinking about leaving, he’s thinking about how Riley holds eye contact. “Besides, you might get all hot and sweaty and it’d be a shame if you had to lose some clothes.”

“Real shame.” He echoes, following her thought process. After a few moments, he breaks himself out of the little fantasy in her head and shakes his head. “Fine. You win - “ She breaks out in that brilliant smile of hers at that. The one that makes him think of sunlight and joy, the one she hasn’t given anyone else. “ - but I can’t dance.”

“That’s okay.” She sets the laptop aside again and presses herself forwards a little more, wrapping her arms around his neck. A soft kiss. “I can. So you can.”

And that’s the long and short of how Riley convinced him to go clubbing. After what felt like hours of her criticizing his clothing( _“No, tighter pants. Looser shirt, you’re probably not going to keep it on anyway. Okay turn around…”)_ and another half an hour drive to the club, Will is pretty sure he’s not supposed to wait in line. Which is correct, he discovers, when Riley directs him to a back entrance so that one of the employees can show him around. Though he’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for, Riley is more than willing to speak through him(an odd sensation, if he must admit) in order to vet the location. It takes a little under an hour, with Will chiming in about different security emplacements - notably cameras and code locks - before he comes to the understanding that she’s ensuring that Nyx, if he finds her, can’t do anything without being caught.

Her name and the date is plastered on fliers around the outside of the building.

Which actually worries him. Once he’s left to his own devices, being given a drink on the house and subsequently setting it on the bar to be forgotten, Will turns to Riley. “You know I’m going to be at your show, right?”

“Yeah.” She hugs herself, looking out of place in her sleep shirt and panties. “I know, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try if he could. I don’t want either of us to have to deal with it.”

“Still, you deserve to be safe.”

Something wholly warm and overpowering flows off of her. She looks at him like he’s speaking a different language, then shakes her head. Riley spins on her heel and walks backward, beckoning him with both hands. “Tonight is for fun, let’s not worry.”

Will follows her onto the dance floor.

It’s possible that she’s a bit of a bad influence, if only because he’s not sure he’s supposed to do his duty as a police officer while in a hotbed of drunks, drug users, and loud music. Technically he’s legally obligated to stop a crime even when off duty, but as Riley pulls him into the throng of people and smiles radiance and light he can’t seem to remember that. It takes him a lot of awkward bouncing and swaying before he gets himself into the steady thumping in the background. Then Riley inhabits him and the words, _no, like this,_ flow into his mind like cool water. His limbs move on their own and he’s lost in the music, in the crowd, and in her. In all this he understands why nightclubs remain a popular escape - In this crowd, in this night, he is nothing but another warm body among the many.

The bass pounds in his veins stronger than whiskey. He is not Will Gorski, Chicago PD. He’s irrelevant. Insignificant, even. It’s a feeling he got the first time he stared at the stars back when he would go to his Grandfather out in the country before his mother died, away from the city lights and smog. The first time he truly saw the sea, in all its immense and unfathomable glory. Nobody cares who he is, the anonymity is kin to the feeling he receives through Riley about being high. It feels wild and primitive, makes him feel like he could walk on clouds, and when the song revs up and drops into more heartbeat bass he feels an intense rush of emotion.

It feels like being free. Like being alive.

Riley is smiling at him widely, her body flush with his movements and her hands on his waist and hips. Her heart pounds like a stereo, the sensation of her life rushing through his veins. Will can’t take his eyes off hers, though he wonders if anyone around them is cognizant enough to see how strange he must look. She sidles close and grins sunshine, his veins light on fire. The urge to press his lips to hers and much, much more of her settles in his gut. Contemplating that action only lasts for a moment as Riley fiddles the top two buttons of his shirt open, plants a quick peck on his chest and promises in a heady little breath. “Tomorrow.”

They lose themselves in each other. He’s in her head and she’s in his, both the club and Riley’s room disappears. There is only them, him and her. Will is vaguely aware of other bodies - both men and women - coming into contact with him, pressing against him as he moves with the crowd. There’s not a care in the world about anybody but them. He dances until his legs won’t let him anymore, until sweat coats him and his head spins, then tries to continue until Riley pulls him out of the throng of people. “You need water, _sæti_.” She explains, “Or you’ll dehydrate yourself.” And it makes sense after the fog dissipates in his head; he feels sticky and sweaty, his arms and lungs burn. The energy of the floor is coiled in him like a snake and the need to move is ever present. Will buys water - because he’s both a bit boring and refuses to drink hard liquor because of his father - and sips at it. “I see why people like doing this. I get it now.”

“Yes, there’s something freeing about it all.” Riley leans on him, back on his chest, her head nodding to the beat. “It’s why I like being a DJ. I get to make people feel alive and forget their worries.”

“It’s an escape.” He mutters through sips of water and hard breaths. “It’s wild. How does it make you feel?”

“The same as you. Alive. When I’m spinning, I can feel everything like it’s in my blood.” She sips her own drink, something deep and red. Wine, a taste on his lips of a mix of sweet and dry. There’s not a bead of sweat on her, which Will decides is pretty unfair, but he can feel how his endorphins affect her. She craves a cigarette, but she can’t stop smiling and her heart is beating as quick as his. “The ecstasy I take before the set helps, though.” She points at an approaching figure, a woman. “I bet she offers you some.”

And she does, though not so openly. The woman leans into Will, drowning him in whatever perfume she decided to wear and the harsh scent of alcohol. Her dress is purple and glittery, her smile far too wide, eyes bloodshot. When she places her hand on his arm, laughs too loud at a joke only she seems to get, it seems like she doesn’t get the message when he pulls away over and over. The woman doesn’t care about him talking about Riley, or declining drink after drink, but once the little bag of pills gets flashed all it takes is Will mentioning he’s a cop and she’s _very much breaking the law and really needs to leave_ for her to back away. Much to his chagrin. 

“Too bad.” Riley’s giggling at his expense, but he can feel that fierce little bit of a territorial streak in her mixed under the mirth. “I think she liked you.”

“I’m taken.” He finishes off the water, listening to his heartbeat slow its pounding in his chest. Now that he’s not on the floor the room feels a lot more empty. Without Riley with him he’s sure he would feel destitute. Maybe it’s just him, but looking from the outside it seems like the one thing dancing didn’t give him was a real sense of fulfillment. After he stopped, after all those endorphins disappeared, he was left with nothing but tired, aching limbs. Riley looks up at him from where her head rests on his chest, “Maybe that’s why people come back. So they can feel free again.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Will replies, a non-answer that she thankfully doesn’t contest, before pushing off the bar. His arms and legs protest the motion. “I’m too old for this.”

“We’re not even thirty! You know you had fun.” Riley protests, weakly, as she fishes his phone out of his pocket and flashes him the time. It’s nearly one AM. Which meant he’d been dancing for an hour? Or more? “But I guess you should probably sleep, since you’re supposed to be picking me up tomorrow night.”

“I had to suck up to the captain to get these days.” He grouses. Sobczak had been quite hard to convince too, but some after some explaining about why he wanted to change shifts - details included - Will _still_ owes him favors. “I’m not gonna miss that for the world.”

/ / / /

Today’s the day, tonight’s the night. 

She lands at eight.

He’s spent all day restless and excited, giddy like a kid on Christmas morning. The apartment has been cleaned twice - as if she doesn’t already know it in and out at this point, mess and all. He’s vacuumed and dusted, wiped down surfaces and was considering starting over a third time when Riley, who had been watching him this entire time with a fond bit of chastisement, took him by the shoulders and sat him down on his couch. In her head Will listens to the considerations of distractions, many of which made him wish she was already here so that it wasn’t just a mental thing. She kisses him and rolls her eyes at the thought, then leaves him to his own devices again. “I like you being so worked up,” She explains before she goes, “It’s cute.”

Time is passing too slowly, he decides, even if he had slept all the way until noon after getting back that morning. His legs are still sore, and lacking movement is making that fact jump to the forefront of his mind. The sitting lasts three minutes before he’s up and pacing again.

Will just wasn’t used to having something to be so excited about. Or maybe it was just because it was Riley and they had this Resonance, extrasensory, Officer Strange( _Damn it, Diego_ ) thing. She was impatient too, the feeling replacing the bittersweet sorrow of saying goodbye to her father. After the first hour on the plane, when they both realized that a six hour flight could feel much longer, that anticipation built up like an echo chamber. Riley is the patient one of their relationship, he thinks. Whenever he gets impatient, he needs to move and think. To do something while he plans for future events. Just like how Diego needs to eat when he feels nervous. Riley was right about him living in action, and it no longer comes at a surprise that she probably knows him better than he knows himself. They’re living in each other’s head now.

The opposite makes sense as well, in these last weeks he’s learned more intimate details about her than either of them could have ever expected. He knows exactly what he needs to do to ease that prison of anxiety when she’s left alone with no music or books to distract her.

Sometimes he has to just let her know that he’s there for her if she needs him, sometimes Will has to go to her and sit with her. Sometimes, she comes to him and wraps herself around his waist, pressing her forehead into him and letting whatever emotional gambit that runs through her out. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she’s scared, sometimes she just draws from his calm. He understands the deep seated grief she once ran from, and admires the way she now raises her chin to the world that took so much from her and dares it to try again. He admires her courage, her wit, her intellect and creativity. Every second he spends with her is a gift and an awe. He wants to see her happy and smiling all the time.

He might even love her already. But he can’t think about that right now because she comes first, and he’s afraid - even if he probably doesn’t need to be - that it might change things. Riley comes first. His heart is hers, fragile, held in a delicate chokehold.

He needs a distraction before she peeks in his mind.

So Will goes for a run.

She’s got around three hours left on her flight when he decides this, which leaves him with two hours of free time until he needs to drive over to the airport she’s landing at. After that it’s dinner plans( _“Because I want an actual date” was his excuse._ ), then it’s figuring out where she can fit her stuff in his tiny place and after that… sky’s the limit. Riley kisses him on the cheek after he’s changed into his running clothes, waving a book of hers as explanation and disappearing to leave him to his own thoughts. Judging by the wrinkles on the spine and wave of nostalgia from her, it’s an old favorite. Will stretches his legs and cracks whatever joints feel stiff, then he plans his route around the nearest park so that he’d have time to shower(again) when he gets back.

Two floors down he offers to help carry in groceries for one of his neighbors, which shaves ten minutes off of his time, then he’s out the door and into the Chicago chill. The Windy City was being a little cruel, biting through his layers with ease with a brisk forty-three degrees, so Will pushes himself with his run to get his blood pumping. The distraction of running only lasts through his first loop around the greenery and paths. He hits the point of the ‘runner’s high’ halfway through his next loop. The world is his oyster, his brain is in overdrive.

Will thinks about Nyx, then.

The chances of him coming for revenge, provided he survived, is too high for his liking. Not only that, but he hadn’t believed Riley about the drugs she allegedly stole, which meant that he had two motives for seeking her out. His reach was enough that he’d been able to get into America once, and though there was a BOLO out for him, it has been a while since Riley was attacked. The old adage ‘out of sight, out of mind’ ironically comes to the forefront of his thoughts. Diego is the only one he can trust to remember, and that’s only because Will is now dating ‘Iceland’.

Riley’s shows are where the problems might be. Nyx knows that she’s a DJ, which means he might be on the lookout for one of her shows. A simple search on the internet, as great as it is, would betray that she had shows at several clubs in America. With dates and times specifically listed on the ones with websites or social media pages. All in all, it spikes his euphoria with a healthy dose of worry.

“Stop worrying.” Riley looks up from her book at a bench as he passes. “I’ll be careful.”

Will nods and tries. It doesn’t last.

He knows he can’t be at every show. Since this whole thing with Riley has started, compounded by saving Deshawn and kicking the crap out of three of his peers at the bar, Will gets stuck with early shifts more often than not. He and Diego hate them for the same reason; you can’t sleep in. Nightclubs, as a whole, tend to operate just how the name implies. At night. Which means that he’ll be asleep and _i_ f Nyx takes her Will is going to _go to war, fuck the consequ_ -

“Will.” Her book is in her lap now, her face pinched in displeasure. He stops at the bench and unzips his windbreaker, panting. Riley’s voice takes on a hard note. “It will be fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He nods and leans on the back of the bench. “You’re right, Riles. We’re in each other’s head, you can literally talk to me if something goes wrong.”

“Right. So stop worrying.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just- I just...” He trails off, waving his hands in front of him while he searches for the right way to say what he feels. Pursing his lips and nodding his head side to side doesn’t help. He settles with a weak excuse. “I just know what all can go wrong.”

“You’ve been a cop for too long. It’ll be fine.” She’s speaking softly, affectionate. Touched by his worry, smiling up at him. “If things go bad, you can switch with me again.”

“I guess.” Will leans on her aircraft seat, basking in the mix of Chicago chill and the airplane A/C. He wipes sweat off of his face with his hands. “I just don’t want anything to happen at all. You deserve to be able to do whatever the fuck you want.”

“We don’t even know if he’s-” Riley stutters, eyeing an attendant as she passes by and remembering that she’s now speaking out loud. Her neck flushes, so her next words are in her head. _Coming after me._

“Or alive.” Will adds. When Riley winces, he listens to her thoughts and sighs. “It’s not your fault if he’s dead. It’s mine and I’m sorry. I know he was your friend once.”

“He was going to kill me. Friend is a strong word. The same way Shugs isn’t my friend because he sold me out to Nyx.” She whispers, “He just had drugs, good ones. It was the first time I felt something out of body like what I feel when I visit you. Except instead of my handsome, amazing cop it was some strung out lady.”

“Strung out lady?” Will blinks, the pleasure at her compliment staunched by that coincidence. “Blonde hair, white dress?”

Riley frowns up at him. A crease appears between her eyebrows. The question is obvious.

“I saw her too, a while back.” He explains, pressing the memory at her. Diego hadn’t been happy when he’d stopped them in the middle of a road, especially in ‘Chiraq,’ and even less happy that there wasn’t anyone there. But he remembers seeing her, hearing her voice speak words that he couldn’t understand. Unlike the rest of his memories, this one was fuzzy and laden with a whining buzz across his senses. The timing added up in his head; The headache, meeting Riley, then this thing between them. In return Riley shows hers - Angelica stroking her hair during her drug induced haze, saying words that never reach Riley’s ears. He gets a good look at the room, too, of the others leaning back in their own chair. Even knows their names; Jacks, Nocker, Nyx. He knows that this is where Jacks dies, this is where Nyx becomes a problem.

Will shakes the memory out of his head. “I had a dream, too, she-”

“Killed herself.” Riley breathes, turning her gaze back to the back of the chair to her front. After a moment she says, “Angelica.”

“Angelica? Is that her name?”

“I think so.”

He chews on that for a second. “How do you know that?”

“I-” That crease comes back. She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Will makes a ‘hmm’ noise, then reaches over and rubs his thumb across the middle of her eyebrows until it smooths out. The warmth he feels from her makes his heart skip. “We’ll talk about it later. Remind me to tell you about Sara Patrell.”

She nods, then leans back. A wry expression crosses her face. “I guess I do need to thank Nyx at some point.”

“Why?”

“He gave me some decent advice back then, and in a way I think he started me towards the happiness I have now.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“I wouldn’t have met you if not for him.” Riley grins and lifts the book up again, flipping a page. Will frowns at how far she’s gotten in so little time until she says, “Check the time.”

He does. It reads: Seven-fifteen.

Will swears. Those two hours had passed much quicker than he thought they would, so he jogs back down the path and onto the sidewalk, making his way towards his apartment complex. The stairs are taken in record time. He showers only until he feels clean, then slips on the closest clothes and is out the door again. Two lights down the road he realizes he’s speeding and makes the conscious effort to slow down - if only because he’s a police officer and being pulled over would not do any good for whatever respect he still holds at the station. Riley’s amusement wavers through their bond, and then she’s back to her solitude.

Parking is a mess at Midway, even this late. He loses a close spot moments before he can turn in by some audacious red sports car, the owner of which hops out and waves at him like he’s thanking him for letting him in. Will, very briefly, considers the shit-storm that would come down on him for making an arrest at this very moment. He can’t, really he doesn’t have the time, but the thought is there. Clenching his fist and knocking the steering wheel a few times helps cull that frustration. Eventually he gives up getting decent parking and takes an open spot that’s quite a walk from the gate he’s supposed to meet her at. Will grumbles and mumbles the entire walk in, fuming and storming about distance, time, and inconsiderate assholes. Riley falls into step beside him, smiling and singsonging. “We’re landing. I’m so excited.”

He picks up the pace, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He gets as far as he can go without any sort of boarding pass and sits in the closest chair, tapping his foot and glancing at the passing people. All of it doesn’t feel real, there’s a dreamlike quality to his last hour - like he’ll wake up at any moment alone in his bed. He recognizes the anxiety, just doesn’t know how to stop it. Will stares at the tile below him and has a brief moment of panic, like what if it’s all just in his head, what if it’s not real? _What if she’s not real and he’s just crazy?_

“Will.” She whispers in his ear, lifting a finger to point to his right. “Look.”

He does, and she’s there. Her smile is as radiant as ever, nose wrinkled from the force of it. Will is struck still for a moment, stunned by her soft beauty. His chest clenches painfully, full of heat and joy. He can’t breathe, his heart skips a beat as he jumps up, drawn to her like a moth to flame. She moves forward, dropping her bags. That smile disappears when he meets her eyes, replaced by hard disbelief and soft wonder. Like she wasn’t sure either, like she felt the same as him. Their eyes burn. They reach for each other.

Riley fits in his arms and everything is right in the world.

“Hello,” She says, voice thick and muffled by his shirt. “Man in my head.”

/ / / /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of listen to a single song over and over as I write, this is the first one that I've listened to two over and over. Every chapter so far has a sprinkle of the lyrics referenced, nothing more than that. Interestingly enough the song that I listened to, Overflow, was the one that let me understand, fully understand, the reason why people go to clubs. Next chapter won't be as subtle as to which song is in my head, but only because the line I'm going to use is so good that I can't resist.
> 
> This story could end here and, in a way, it's complete. It won't end here, but if I had decided this was the end I would be happy with it. Unfortunately I'm not that nice to my characters. There's one more loose end and by now I've laid the groundwork thick enough that it should be obvious what the next problem to arise is(but I'm hoping I'll still catch someone off guard with how it resolves). I've also left myself open to writing the rest of the cluster in through their own journeys. If I can ever decide how I want that to go, aka how to make the other Sensates interact. The groundwork for BPO being an actual thing is there, with Angelica's mention, but as far as I'm concerned as of now this story will be stand-alone.
> 
> See you next time,  
> Vax.


	7. Riley: Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a first date is had, things get hot and heavy, and something important is said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's head-canon to me that Riley gets super poetic when she's emotional. Little bit of a shorter chapter.
> 
> Notes at end.
> 
> Enjoy,

/ / / /

Riley wouldn’t consider herself to be a religious or spiritual person.

But as Will’s moves towards her and her breath hitches, her chest constricts so tight she can’t breathe. As his body slots against her in an embrace and she understands how it feels to believe in something greater. A pit settles in her throat and strangles her voice when she greets him the only way she can think how, and when she does he lets out a shaky, breathy laugh. “Hello,” Will buries his lips and nose in her hair, holding her like she’s the only thing in the world. “Woman in my head.” She laughs and clenches her arms around him harder, as if she could eliminate the non existent space between them. She thinks it might just be impossible how different things feel now that he’s a physical presence.

Their first physical touch since that night at the club is like taking a first breath, digging through her skin and bone to meld with her soul. It scrambles their minds together, he is Riley and she is Will. Her body arches against his with his mind inside of it, his tenses and relaxes with hers. They breathe through it, slow deep breaths that intermingle their scents, that bring their hearts to bear in a way that makes her feel like she’s both the smallest thing in the room and the largest thing in life. The room disappears, they come back to themselves, and she drowns herself, willingly, in everything Will. She drinks him in, his scent and his skin, the rough of his hands, she just wants to be closer, closer,  _ closer.  _

She breathes him in. He smells like earth and soap.

His warmth of everything is unmistakable. From the heat of his skin and his breath ghosting over her, to the steady fluctuation of his emotions, to the way his heart pounds against her chest. He’s real, he’s here, and in his mind there’s only one word on repeat. Like a broken stereo playing her favorite song on repeat - complex as mosaic and as simple as can be;  _ lovelovelovelove. _ Riley doesn’t realize that she’s crying until she takes his face in her hands and tastes her tears on his lips. Her kiss is greedy, relishing in the firm and soft of him, the lightning that blasts through her veins, and the hot feeling of her every cell being alive. It wraps around her like a favorite sweater. “You’re real.” She says once she breaks away for air. Will laughs and nods, repeating the words back and pressing his forehead into hers. The complexity of emotions she feels from and for him as he basks in her makes her feel dwarfed, equally a single star in the galaxy and the brightest star to ever shine.

She’s happy to hold him forever.

At some point he lifts her bags and shoulders them, an effortless show of strength, and wraps his arm over her shoulders to guide her out. Will lends her warmth as she sets foot in Chicago proper, not against the chill of the air(because let’s be honest, Iceland isn’t the warmest place and she grew up being chilly) but from the uncertainty of something new. With him, she feels like she can tackle anything. It’s not until they’re in his little car and driving that she remembers that they have dinner plans. Riley’s too busy looking at him. Staring, actually. It’s a little weird that she’s so much more entranced by him now, compared to when they visited each other. But that little bit of scruff over his face had her attention just as much as the boyish smile he had growing out of his lips “What?”

“You’re very pretty. I like you clean shaven, but this bit of ruggedness is more than a little sexy.” She explains, enjoying the shy flush that spreads up his neck. Triumphant, she adds, “It’s all… different in person.”

“Stronger. It feels magnetic.” Will nods, “I feel it too, but if I’m driving I can’t really stare.”

Riley reaches over and pulls one of his hands off the wheel, entwining her fingers in his and holding it against her chest. His crooked smile makes an appearance, her stomach flips as she kisses the back of his hand. The urge and need to move closer to him roars to the front of her conscious and he obliges at the next red light by adjusting the middle console up and patting the seat. Riley pops her seat belt before she’s even had time to think about it, shifting over to the center seat and smiling as Will clips the belt around her - because he’s a cop and it’s the law - and gives her his hand again. She settles his arm around her instead, leaning over to rest against him. It's as close as she can get to him right now.

She must have fallen asleep against him at some point, because Will wakes her with gentle kisses and lingering strokes of fingers against her cheeks. It takes everything in her willpower for her sleep addled mind to not shift to lay in his lap and sleep more... or to wrestle his clothes off of him in his tiny car. Instead she rubs at her eye while he raises an eyebrow at her thoughts, before glancing out of the windshield. It’s a diner, one of those twenty-four hour places that she remembers seeing in movies. She remembers vaguely that, at least in the movies, they cater towards lonely artists, high school cliques, older couples, hand night owls like herself. When Riley pushes herself up fully and turns to him, she asks in her best teasing tone, “Here for a first date?”

“It’s my rug under the piano.” Will looks at the building with a nostalgic wonder, with a love that burns his eyes. Flickers of memory, hazy and old, coalesce in their minds. It’s like looking through smudged glass, all except one detail etched in crystal; A woman, eyes wrinkled with a smile as she chews on food. She sees Will in her, something about her eyes and the way she squints as she smiles. Her voice is music, even if the words are intelligible. “My uh… My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid when I couldn’t sleep during the summer. We only lived a few miles away,” he explains, “I don’t remember much about my mother anymore, but I remember this.”

“Oh, Will…”

“You showed me your happy place at home, so I’m showing you mine. I wanted this to be special for us in some way.” Reading him tells her everything she needs to know, as he wipes away a tear and swallows a pit in his throat. “I haven’t come here since I got on the Force. Me and Diego are never really in the area… and I always kept myself busy.” There’s no pain in him when he thinks about his mother - just acceptance of what is and a healthy surge of love and happiness that he still has the memory, enough to fill her to the brim. Will smiles and she can’t help but smile back, popping his seat belt and pushing his door open. “But with you, I think it’s a good place to start. Come on, let’s go see if they’re as good as I remember.”

Riley would give this man the world.

She follows close after, devolving into giggles when he lifts her out of his vehicle by the hips and sets her on the ground like she’s made of glass. After he closes the door, Will turns to her and drags his fingers through her hair to smooth it out. She watches herself through his eyes, closing her own while he works on her appearance until he swoops down to kiss her and proclaims, “Perfect.”

Riley Blue, as a whole, doesn’t consider herself religious. But she might just have some sort of deity in her head.

“Someone’s laying it on thick.”  _ And it's working  _ goes unsaid. He takes her hand and she lets herself be led into the restaurant. The inside is nothing like the outside, with this almost fifties retro feel betraying the dark red brick and modern windows of the exterior. Riley’s blanketed in the smooth blues and the scents of food the moment the door opens, she can pick out fried potato, grilled meats, and even something sweet and buttery that Will’s memory feeds for her; American style pancakes. She’s never had them, which makes up her mind on what she wants to try right away. After all the stories and biting comments she’s heard while traveling Europe and Britain, specifically targeting American food and eating habits, she wonders what she’s in for when she sits down in the booth. Will, evidently listening in on her mind, smiles. “It’s not all that bad, really, but a lot of people don’t know what the word ‘moderation’ means. And there’s sugar pretty much everywhere.”

“Sweet.” Her pun gets her one of those half-smile half ‘ _ did you really just _ ’ looks. A waitress comes by, asking after their orders and drinks. When Will tries to settle with water, Riley reaches out to touch his arm and says, “Coffee, black, one sugar for the both of us -” And, once the waitress is out of earshot, she gives him what she hopes is a demure smile and says, “We’ll need the energy.”

Will mouths an ‘oh, well’, pointedly turning his gaze towards his menu. He can’t hide his thoughts from her, even if he tried. She smiles at him and fills in some more explicit details until he shifts in his chair and fixes her with a gaze that could very well freeze her solid while she burns alive from the inside. “Tease.” Is his accusation, “You’re a tease.”

“And you’re cute when you get shy. I've been looking forward to this. Waiting until we're together." She didn't want Will to be another warm body in her count, and it probably doesn't feel the same just mentally. Judging from the way a simple touch from him makes her feel now, she’s happy she waited… even if it left her wanting for so long. The kisses they shared over the bond was enough to stem her desire.

Riley accepts her coffee from the waitress and points out what she wants on the menu. While Will orders, she sips at her drink and is pleasantly surprised at how good it just is. “If it’s one thing I hear we got right as Americans,” Will replies to her thoughts, “It’s coffee, especially in places this old. The British have their tea, the Germans have their engineering. Then again, I’ve never been out of the country and most people I meet from the rest of the world like to talk about imperialism or warmongering while they enjoy their American tourist attractions.”

She shrugs a shoulder, “I’ve always wanted to be in America. There’s something about the country that draws me.”

“Is there?” Will blinks at that, a quick rhythm as he parses that information. “What about it?”

“I don’t know. It's a giant melting pot of cultures. Everybody I’ve talked to that’s been here says that it’s great.”

“There are a lot of problems,” He points out, listing things off like the cop he is. “Gangs, violence, murder rate, mass shootings, religious tension, cultural intolerance…”

“Everywhere has problems.” Riley counters, “But when it comes down to it, I know America as a place full of people that aren’t afraid to get something done as long as they believe it’s right.” She gestures towards him, “You included.”

“That  _ also _ causes problems.”

“Doing nothing causes more problems.”

“Okay, okay…” Will purses his lips, holding up his hand, “I concede, enough politics. I love this country. I think it helps that you’re an artist and a musician -”

“Just a DJ.” She tries to correct.

“- and there’s room for all sorts of art in America. And you're foreign with a cute accent, and we Americans do like our foreigners and their accents.”

“Hallelujah for that.” Riley grins and sips at her coffee, then changes the subject. “So, tell me something about police work that nobody knows on the outside.”

“Only if you tell me something about DJing that nobody knows.”

“Deal. You first.”

He opens his mouth to retort, then mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘that’s fair’ and blows air out of his cheeks. He scratches the back of his head, spinning his coffee cup in circles while he thinks. After a short minute he’s narrowed his ideas down to a small set, before he cherry picks one and demonstrates. Will locks his eyes to hers, intense. She feels frozen again. “Nobody ever tells you the power of eye contact. My dad taught me. You remember the night we met?”

“Yes.” Riley breathes the word. His gaze is like a drug. She licks her dry lips. “I’ll never forget the night I met you.”

“The first thing I did was establish eye contact with you.” He smiles, teeth flashing at her. Their bond isn’t required for her to notice how much he’s enjoying the effect it has on her. “Not too much though, enough for you to know that I was able to be trusted and that you were safe. If I’d held it for too long you might have been intimidated or shied away. You want another secret?”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak - he smolders her with those eyes of his. Vividly she remembers staring into them whenever he’d taken her outside, away from the noise and pollution of the club. Back then she’d had an inkling of their connection, even if she tried to deny it as a side effect of what she’d taken that night. Of being lonely, high, and having the attention of a man - an attractive one at that - who'd quite literally saved her life. She knows better now.

“You were coming to the station whether you liked it or not, since it was a violent crime.” Will sips at his coffee, putting it aside and breaking that eye contact to accept his food. “I just gave you the option so you’d be more likely to cooperate.”

“Aw,” Riley fakes a pout, “And here I thought you were just being nice to me.”

“I was. You were scared, so I eased your worries by making you think you had a way out.” His eyes crinkle, “It’s a psychological thing.”

It had worked, if she must admit. He’d played her before they’d even connected, and done it in a way that had made her feel safe at the time. That fact gives her a newfound appreciation and respect for him, and the job he does. Riley feels lucky to know him, much less have her feelings for him be mutual. She lifts a finger and beckons him over the table to steal a kiss before turning to her food. The pancake took up most of the real estate on her plate, and when she poked at it with an experimental finger it bounced back. “Wow, they’re... fluffy.” She finds herself saying, pressing her fork into the stack. “Nothing like what we make in Iceland.”

“ _ Pönnu- _ uh.” Will tries twice more, “ _ Pönnuk- Pönnukukor? _ ”

“ _ Pönnukökur. _ ” She corrects. Hearing him try to say it warms her chest. “You almost had it.”

“Yeah, I guess I still don’t know how to speak it like you.” He pops a piece of bacon into his mouth, chewing for a moment. She’s caught between the meaty flavour of the bacon and the buttery sweetness of her pancake - it takes her a moment to differentiate the two. Will wipes something off of his mouth with his thumb and cleans it with his tongue, nodding towards her. “Your turn. Something most people don’t know about DJing.”

“Uh.” Riley flounders. She hadn’t really thought about her job as requiring something as layered as knowing exactly how much eye contact was too much, or knowing what to say to steer questioning. In a way, she feels anxious that whatever she says won’t be impressive or as interesting as what he’d shared. Will, as in tune with her as he is, shakes his head and disagrees, so she shrugs a shoulder. “We have to have backups for everything, even the backups. I make four mixes for each show, just in case one corrupts, or the crowd doesn’t like the first, second, or third one.” Riley takes another bite from her pancake stack, which is looking quite empty at this point. “It’s a little lame…”

“No, it’s not.” Will leans back in the booth, and just to make her squirm he deliberately thinks about nothing and takes his time finishing his coffee. “That’s a lot of work, Riles. And you’ve just said you gotta read the crowd, which is something I’m pretty sure I can’t do. I bet you can tell whenever people start to lose interest, and I bet you never have to think about what you need to change to adjust that.”

She nods, slightly stunned. Will has a way about him that eases her soul, slips through the cracks in her and makes her feel whole. He’s insightful like that, even about things that their shared emotions and thoughts don’t transmit. It’s like he’s tuned in to her frequency. It’s becoming hard for her to remember the last few years without him; He shines so brightly in all of the dark corners of her mind and helps banish the shadows there. Riley swallows and looks at him, the growth of hair that marrs his normally smooth jaw, the curve of his lips into that smile that’s entirely him, and the way his eyes narrow as a thought enters his head. She’s about to ask what he’s thinking, even though she can hear it in her head, when he says, “I have an idea.”

And just like that he’s visiting, both across from her and at her side. Riley resists the urge to jump, glancing left at him, then forward at his actual self. Ideas and thoughts swarm their collective consciousness and she finds her lips turning up in a smile as she lets herself get lost in his eyes again.

His arms slide over her shoulders, one hand sliding the fork from her fingers from where it hangs in the air, an effortless show of the control he has over her. She’s willing to give it, to give anything he wants. Will spikes the pancakes with the utensil, lifts the morsel up to her and slips it in between her lips. She chews and tries to avoid a smile, until he(or, his visiting self) drags his thumb across her lips to clean crumbs. That little touch sends the red hot burn of her desire through her, gathering in the base of her spine and spreading through her in warm pulses. Those hands of his slide down her waist and settle on her hips, she shifts in her seat. Riley bites at the inside of her lip, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head at him. His smile is equal parts infuriating and inviting, maybe even a little smug - he knows what he’s doing to her, how can’t he?  _ Two can play at this. _ She decides, visiting him in turn.

She doesn’t tease. This time. It’s been too long, she’s too impatient.

Riley leans over the back of the booth, drawing her hands down his chest and pressing her lips right under his jaw. His heartbeat pounds on her tongue, his breath hitches. One hand slides under his shirt to drag across his stomach, the other goes lower, lower, lower. 

She’s standing before the thought even crosses Will’s mind. They pay, they leave.

Riley is not a religious woman...

But she’s rethinking her stance on it all on the drive back to Will’s apartment. The drive is unbearable, full of the pair of them teasing and touching through visiting. Just enough to keep the spike of arousal growing, just enough to reave their veins with shared adrenaline at each thought, promise, and fantasy. She tries not to distract him too much, since he  _ is  _ in the driver's seat and she’s had enough tragedy for a lifetime. Will, on the other hand, seems to be a master at multitasking. He drives like it’s a casual day heading home from work, complete with turn signals, checking his mirrors, and even a complaint or two about other drivers. He also plays her like they've explored each other for years, with lingering touches and soft kisses, nips of teeth along her neck and jaw. Exactly how she likes.

By the time they enter his apartment, the door doesn’t close before she’s melting into him. The events are both vague in their arousal, and vivid in their need. There’s no rush, no flying clothes or ripped fabric. He takes his time with her, languid applications of lips, tongue, and teeth to every part of her he unveils - in a way, she realizes that he too is worshiping every inch of skin - from her blemishes to her perfection. One of them, Riley isn’t sure which is which anymore and isn’t sure it matters, leads their bodies to the bed. All that matters to her is the way they move as one, her crawling back as he stalks forward, hovering inches over her - predatory, primal, intentional, intriguing, hers, hers,  _ hers _ .

“Yours.” He confirms against her neck.

She gets distracted more than once when he slides his shirt off and figures out she’s got a thing for the way he works his belt off. Her hands caress the curve of his muscle, she’s high on the feeling of it all, the scent of him, the pulse of his heartbeat in their veins. Intoxicated.

Arousal, Riley comes to discover, is an echo chamber for them. Ricocheting between the pair of them, growing with each moment. Her knowledge of his body instinctual, she knows exactly where to touch to frenzy him, exactly what he likes pain and exactly where he wants pressure. Where to stroke, where to scratch, where to bite, where to lick. They catch themselves with her straddling his lap, with Riley left wearing the only article of clothing on them. It’s become quite hard for her to differentiate his body from hers, she’s nearly lost track of where she ends and he begins through all the kisses and sweet nothing’s they’ve already painted across each other’s skin.

Riley thinks she could spend years with him like this. He hears her thoughts and murmurs  _ "I like the sound of that" _ against her earlobe. The rumble of his voice sends shivers down her spine.  


She slides her hands up his abdomen, traces her fingers across the curve of his chest and across the valley of his collarbones. Will stares at her, runs his hands over her in turn. His touch leaves trails of fire, bolstering her. Riley slides her nails up the hill of his shoulders, enjoying the shiver it brings the both of them, then cups his neck in both hands and sets her forehead against his. The shared sensation is both too much and never enough.

His fingers ghost over her stomach, where she knows faded marks remain from the one beauty and tragedy that had altered the course of her life. Before she has time to feel anything negative she spots the wry smile on his face, hears the rambling thoughts in his head that coalesce into a small joke. He whispers it, as venerable as a priest during confession. “Blessed be, she who is touched by the lightning of Thor.”

Which makes her feel a lot more badass than she knows she is. Even if she knows he probably got it from the internet. Riley giggles and rubs her nose against his, presses as much of her skin to his as she can. Will steals a kiss before he asks, “Uh, was… was that culturally insensitive?”

She repeats her giggle, shaking her head no. Of course not.

Riley feels beautiful with him. Sees herself in his eyes, the awe in him that she’s here and she’s his brushes against her mind.  Any anxiety she might have felt before now is gone, replaced by such a layered, strong feeling that no word in any language can begin to comprehend or fathom. It hits in her chest like a hammer, crushing and rebuilding the structure of her with each heartbeat and each kiss. Riley drags her eyes over him, slow and deliberate. She rubs at the stubble on his face with a finger, consumes the searing heat of his skin and his emotions into her core and leans her lips in the final distance to close them together. In one way she wants to cry - she’s never felt this way about anybody. She loved Magnus once, and she’ll never love anybody like she loved Magnus, but what she has with Will is something else entirely - superhuman, divisive, divine.

True, even, if that word has enough strength of meaning.

It’s okay that she’ll never love him the same way she loved Magnus. Because they’re different people, and her love for them each is different. She’s different.  


Will deserves the world in any way she can give it to him. 

The fear of how strongly that feels is dwarfed by the very strength it gives her. Riley will tear apart buildings at his call, she’ll defend him until she’s bloody, broken, and bruised. She'll beg, lie, steal, and cheat for him to get his way. Nothing compares to him, no deity or drug. Not hash or heroin, not cocaine, not ecstasy, DMT, or LSD. No amount of men and women from her past fulfilled her the way he does with one single look. Riley will kneel at his feet and pull her own heart beating from the confines of her chest, present it to him as a gift and a promise if that would make him happy. He sees these thoughts and she knows it, she feels his lips tremble against hers. (“ _Don’t._ ” _He whispers in their kiss, his eyes clenched shut._ _She adores how literally he takes her musing._ “ _Don’t do that._ ”) Her heart would glow, she thinks, luminous and enlightened by his love. She hopes it can fill his voids and banish the demons that rest under his skin - the ones she knows are waiting to jump out at any opportunity.

Riley dares someone to try to take him from her.

She pulls her lips off of his, taking one of his gentle hands in hers and pressing it directly over her heart. “Take it. It’s yours." Her voice is a bare whisper. Broken, pained, pure. "From the moment we met...” She pulls back just enough so that she can take his face in, not daring herself to move too far. Will looks down at where his hand is, then back up to meet her eyes. His conviction never wavers. Riley places her other hand on his cheek and wipes away at a tear that is sliding down. His eyes are sharp in the evening light, wonderful and stormy with the deep blue spread across his face. The man who knows her in and out, shares in her pain and lives in her head. The one who doesn’t judge her for her past, who gives her the courage to look past the next step and helps hold back the monsters in her memory. The cop who saves gang kids, who should be his enemy just because it's the right thing to do. He’s perfect, vulnerable, hers. She smiles and gathers all of her strength and courage, leans into the steel that he built in her spirit, presses back every little harmful voice whispering in her head and says, “I love you.”

The words are infinitesimal to what she really means. What they feel. What they have.

“I love you.” Is his response. It’s breathed out, barely a whisper against her skin, dancing against the sound of their hearts. Will punctuates it by sharing everything he’s feeling in that moment. Everything compounds and fills her; Lust, wonder, awe, joy, pain, life, light, protection, love, love,  _ love, love. _ Riley kisses him again,hooks her arms around his neck and then moves to lose the last barrier of clothing between her and her love. Even completely bare before him, there’s no feeling of hesitation or fear when she settles back onto his lap and presses him against the headboard. His hands support her back, she wraps her arm around his neck and locks their eyes.

_ Mon amour, ástin mín, mijn liefste, my love, my life. From the moment we met. _

They breathe.

Riley Blue is not a religious woman.

But she rethinks that stance entirely when they move together, complete, and from their lips is drawn a single, broken, “ _ Hallelujah. _ ”

They worship, they shatter.

/ / / /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last line is a little on the nose, let's be honest. But this entire chapter started with a line that made it work so damn well. This is one of the few lines I have in my outline that I noted as "required for this moment."
> 
> I didn't want this to devolve into a smut scene, since it's a really important scene for both of the characters. As well as a really emotional scene for two characters that are finding someone after so long of being alone. I did, however, always intend for their first time to be told from Riley's perspective, or as much of it is still Riley's perspective considering they share senses.
> 
> I tried to keep it classy, even in the rough draft. The tough part was making it believable that Riley has come to accept her love for Will in comparison to her love for Magnus. I leaned on a friend of mine who's had a similar sort of situation(although the trauma isn't as harsh as losing a child as well as a long-term partner), in that it's okay for someone to love two people - most importantly knowing that the love will not be the same between the two people. For her, it was a sudden rush of understanding about herself in that moment, and I appreciate that she was willing to tell me the story. However, that's just in real life; what can compare to sharing someone's every thought and emotion. It's a somber sort of thought that, if Magnus had survived, it'd be another Kala-Wolfgang-Rajan situation, but I don't know if we'd have the same resolution.
> 
> As much as the message of Sense8 pushes for loving multiple people, I don't think it's realistic to believe that everybody will consent or even be into a poly relationship(the same way I don't believe the cluster are all madly in love with each other like most other fanfic writers do, I think the orgy thing isn't quite as literal as the show makes it seem. It is a sensation thing, I think, which was visualized for us - they're feeling everybody at once), and the way the love between Riley and Will is basically guaranteed("Love in a cluster is pathological." It's also said that Riley believes her love for Will to be True. Capital T), it could be a real shit storm. But I digress.
> 
> Sex scenes, or the scenes leading up to even, it are hard. Pun intended.
> 
> Things I would change on rewrite; The lead-up during the date/drive. I was focused more on getting the actual latter part right and I think it shows. The beats are there, but they're not fleshed out more thoroughly. I'd also mention before this chapter that Riley's sort of waiting for them to be in person to actually do the deed.
> 
> The things I like: The start, with their first embrace. I wanted to really liken it to the scene where Will first touches Riley in the finale, because it's absolutely beautiful. Will talking about his little psychology trick on Riley. Visit teasing; Majorly underused in this sort of way. The 'Blessed be the daughter touched by the lightning of Thor' line. I actually used this line on an ex once, and then proceeded to find it online a few weeks later, which was king of a bummer.
> 
> I've rambled on too long. Thanks for reading,  
> \- Vax


End file.
